


I Took No Time with the Fall

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [7]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Comeplay, Confined/Caged, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Eating Disorders, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Safeword Use, Size Kink, Skype, Threesome - M/M/M, sub!Drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place during Week #7 of XF series 9. A thinly veiled love letter to Rylan Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Took No Time with the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> **Character/Relationships** : Harry/Louis/George Shelley, George/Ella; references to Jaymi/Olly  
>  **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [frottage, oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, unprotected sex, comeplay, overstimulation, rimming, fingering, felching, spit-roasting, DP (for real), deep-throating/gagging/choking]; het [kissing, French kissing, snogging]) and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, orgasm control/denial, mentions of collaring, caging, ownership; no impact play, very light breathplay [no strangulation]). Panic attack/panic state. _Safewording_. Possible sub!drop. Mild mentions of ED; may still be triggering for some.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

** I Took No Time with the Fall **

"You had to wear a polka dotted Minnie skirt, didn't you?"

Ella just grins at George like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. She toasts him with her flute of champagne and takes a sip. 

"You always have to be cuter than me," George whines. "No matter how cute I try to be. I even have Mickey earmuffs."

"I guarantee you that there's not a person in the world who'd say I'm more adorable than you, _ever_." Ella tips her nose into the air. "You with your monkeys and your earmuffs."

George chucks his chin on his shoulders in his best Cute Smile. "But really, you're in costume. That's cuter than all of us."

"Not cuter than Chris with that lipstick and French mustachio," Ella points out, laughing and pointing to where Josh is finishing up drawing the curlique on Chris Maloney's upper lip.

"I think you could pull off a mustachio," George muses, giving Ella's face a solemn onceover. "If it was done correctly. You know, if you wanted, we could find out. What do you say, want to let me near your face with a marker?"

"Erm, no," Ella says. "You can't even give yourself a mustache."

"That's not my fault," George moans. "I'm a late bloomer!"

"You just keep telling yourself that." Ella pats his shoulder with a patronizing look on her face. "You're right, you're just a late bloomer, I'm sure. You'll grow facial hair eventually."

"I will!" George insists. "And chest hair, too. I'll be a gorilla then, and not just a monkey."

Ella pulls a horrible face and recoils, kicking her feet. "Gross! Get away!"

"Never!" cries George with a whoop, nearly diving into her. He gets a solid knee to the ribs but manages to dig his fingers into Ella's sides anyway, tickling her and laughing through his wheezing gasps.

"George," barks their minder, Stephanie, as she glances up from her iPad. "Can you go ten minutes without being _on_ another contestant?"

"No," say George, Ella, and Josh together.

Stephanie heaves a sigh and mutters as she goes back to whatever she was doing. George doesn't know, and he thinks he's having more fun anyway. Maybe everyone would have more fun if they let their guards down and just got into a tickle fight with somebody.

Well, except Jahmene. George has tried to tickle-fight with him and it didn't really work.

Jahmene just sort of sits there and lets George tickle him until he bores himself. Which happens pretty quickly when you're tickling someone who doesn't react, it transpires.

Ella's fun to tickle; she tickles him back and screeches and laughs and kicks and she doesn't let him win. George likes a bit of fight in his tickle-victims.

He also just likes Ella. Ella is the best.

Besides Harry and Louis, and he hasn't actually tried tickle-fighting them yet.

Maybe he should. He's not sure how that'd go over, really, because he doesn't tend to want his tickle-fights to segue into sex, but he's never tried tickling someone he's having sex with. 

Harry would probably tickle him back, giving as good as he gets. George thinks Harry seems the type to appreciate a good tickle-fight.

Louis might just sit on him, though.

That would be okay.

George likes being sat on, and he likes Louis, and he likes Louis holding him down, so he can't imagine that'd be in any way unpleasant. 

He squawks as Ella takes advantage of his musing to knock him back, fighting her way out of his grip (which wasn't very tight to begin with -- he likes winning tickle-fights but he wouldn't ever want to actually hurt Ella) and pushing him back where he was sitting before.

She slings her feet into his lap and settles back comfortably like an old-movie version of Cleopatra. She brings her champagne flute back to her lips. "Entertain me, Georgie."

"I was trying," George says earnestly. "What else can I do?"

"Feed me olives," Ella commands. "Find a big leaf to fan me with. Oh, I don't know, I'm bad at being extravagant. What do manslaves actually do?"

George opens his mouth with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and Ella quickly slaps a hand over his mouth.

" _No_ ," she says fiercely. "Bad George. I don't want an honest answer to that question from _you_ , _ever_."

George licks her hand and wipes his wrist over his lips when she squeals and snatches her hand back.

"Shouldn't have asked, then." George sniffs. "Try and be honest with people and this is what I get."

Ella just glares and shakes her hand, wiping her hand all over the front of his festive Christmas jumper.

"Rude!" George frowns heavily, giving her as severe a look as he can when his lips keep wanting to smile. He's having a really good day. It's less tense, he thinks, without the other boy band, and maybe that's awful of him to think but the 'Battle of the Boy Bands' had been getting to him and it's just relaxing to be able to worry a bit less about that, at least, splitting the vote.

And he thinks maybe it's good for Ella, too, not having to see the leggy girls from Mahiki and Funky Buddha parading past her door at half-three in the morning, too. Not that Ella couldn't be one if she wanted.

George shifts around until he can rest his head on Ella's shoulder. She's got very comfortable shoulders. So does Jaymi, but JJ's are a little bony and Josh still gets a bit tetchy if anybody tries to cuddle him without prior warning. Rylan's a little too tall for George to be able to lean on his shoulder, and Jahmene a little too... _Jahmene_.

It strikes George that he's cuddled every single contestant and several of them on a regular basis. He'd try to tone it down but he likes cuddles and he likes people, so he doesn't think he will.

He used to cuddle on Melanie, too, before she left. And Charlie. It seems strange to think that they'd ever been in the hotel, now, because they were there such a short time and left so soon. He'd never even really gotten to know Carolynne, but he's glad that Rylan got to stay. 

The group that's left, though, he loves them all. Even James, who can be spiky and rather likes scaring him. He doesn't really want anyone to leave.

He knows there's no real way for that to happen, though. They're so close to the final now but George knows logically that every step closer for them is a spot taken away from someone else, and he doesn't feel guilty or anything, because he wants to win, and he wants to make something of himself, and he wants this for the other members of his band, but it's still an awful feeling to watch people who want it just as badly go home.

He's been quietly distancing himself from Rylan for the last few days, because he loves Rylan, and losing him on Sunday will really hurt them all. He's sort of the heart and soul of the contestants even if he _can't_ come into the Corinthia anymore.

The worst part is that he's pretty sure Rylan's noticed, and he's pretty sure that Rylan _understands_. He's a good person, one of the best George has ever met, and he's the glue that holds them together and keeps them from getting catty and awful at each other. Not that George thinks he'd be catty and awful to Ella, or to James or anything, but Rylan keeps them grounded.

He's been good for all of them, and he makes James smile and he makes Jahmene laugh (with a look on his face like he doesn't think he should, but laugh all the same) and he talks to George and Ella and the Js like they're _people_ , and he makes the competition fun.

It'll be weirdly quiet after he's gone, George thinks. Assuming Union J aren't the ones to be leaving, and he doesn't even want to think about that. They're probably equally likely, even though the odds are saying it'll be either Rylan and Chris. They're also saying Chris gets more votes than anyone.

They're also saying George and Ella will kiss before the end of the final, and that's just -- no. Odds are stupid.

Ella's nice and warm, though, and stroking his hair, which is also nice. George hums and closes his eyes. He's sort of tired but only in the way that he's always tired since the start of all this, a tired in his bones, a tired that sleep won't really fix.

"Little Georgie," Ella coos, and it makes him wrinkle his nose at her because she's _three years younger_ than he is.

She wrinkles her nose back like she always does. If George didn't know any better, he'd think he's not actually intimidating at all.

"You should ride Splash Mountain with me," she informs him. "And the other one, the outer space one. And we should just eat chocolate all day."

"You and your chocolate," says George affectionately. "Yeah, alright. I can't believe we're going to Paris. Disney Paris. I'm going to Disney Paris."

"Not a bad way to spend a Monday, is it?" Ella asks. She keeps scratching her fingers through George's hair and it's not a bad way to start a Monday, either.

"Not bad at all," he agrees. "I could think of worse ways to spend a day."

"Yesterday was a worse way," Ella says grimly. "I hate Sundays so much."

"So do I." George sighs, giving her a hug from the side as well as he can. "I really thought we were through. That's the second time we've been in the bottom and I just, how much longer can we last?"

Ella gives George a good scruffle behind the ear. "You'll take it all home, mark my words. You lads will be in the final."

"Oh, great, up against you, Jahmene, and James. Wonder who will be the first to go."

"It'll be me because I've not got a J name," Ella jokes. She knows exactly how he likes his head touched at this point, so he pauses before responding to sigh happily and snuggle down against her.

"That's dumb," he mumbles. "You're Ella. You're going to win. 'Cause you're the prettiest."

"I do smell the best," Ella concedes.

George tries to covertly sniff himself, but it's too much work to move his head. "You do," he says, because it's entirely likely she does. Ella actually does her laundry and showers every day and likely always remembers to put on deodorant.

George has worn the same five shirts over and over since getting to London. He and Mum had gone to buy him a whole new wardrobe before he left, and all he wears are the five shirts he knows he looks alright in. And his onesies.

His onesies are the most comfortable things he owns, so he doesn't regret that much. Probably, he could wear a few more shirts than he does.

If they make it through to next week, he will, he promises himself in his head. If they make it to the final five, he'll wear those -- those skinny jeans Harry loaned him, too.

(He doesn't think he quite has the legs to pull them off, but Louis had given him an incredibly dry look and Harry nearly tackled him to the bed when he said that, so he might be wrong.)

"Are we really going to eat chocolate all day?" he asks Ella curiously. "While riding roller coasters?"

"I think it sounds like a marvelous idea," Ella confirms. "We're going to be in _Paris_. Eating chocolate and riding roller coasters sounds like the best day ever."

"Okay." George doesn't really see how that plan can go wrong.

Of course, it does go wrong. George ends up tucked into bed while everyone else is out and he feels awful about feeling awful, practically had to force Jaymi to go have fun with the others because he'd been tittering about staying in with George to look after him. 

It's lovely that Jaymi mothers over all of them but George doesn't want to be the reason that the others don't get to have fun, and he can take care of himself. He's nineteen. He can be sick on his own.

 _there are reasons people don't only eat chocolate :(_ he texts to Ella, then copies Harry onto it just to see if he can get an answer. He doesn't even know where Harry and Louis are today. Sweden or somewhere, probably.

Ella responds almost instantly, which makes George think she's probably paying extra attention to her phone. That makes him feel both good and bad. It's nice she cares about him, but he wants her to have _fun_ in Disney Paris, and she can't do that if she's looking after him.

_I'm sorry, little Monkey. we are LOSING this maze without U!! josh has NO sense of direction_

_aw_ , George tweets back. _at least I know how to go in One Direction_

_You are proper gross. Get some sleep!! X_

That sounds like a really good idea. George is starting to feel woozy again, and his mouth is dry but he doesn't want to chance the walk to get a glass of water. It's much easier to keep his phone close enough that he can reach it and burrow into his pillow. He feels unpleasantly warm, a bit, but he knows if he takes off the blanket he'll freeze.

He pulls the earflaps of his newest monkey onesie over his eyes so the room looks a little darker, even on into the afternoon. It really is rotten luck to have made himself get so sick on a beautiful day in Paris.

Taking a deep breath to attempt to quell the faint rolling in his stomach, George settles in for a nap. At least while he's sleeping, he won't feel quite so ill.

His phone buzzes just under his ear and it makes him heave a little. Once he's confident that he won't be sick, he pulls it out and squints at the screen.

It's from Harry. _You ok?_ it says with a little frowny face. _Aren't u supposed to be in paris? .xx_

George sniffs. _I am in Paris. it was french chocolate!_

It takes Harry a moment to respond, probably busy at work on receiving another award or preparing to fly to another country. George wants to go to sleep, but he wants to talk to Harry while he can. The phone buzzes.

_Are you sick? Get sleep and fluids! .x_

George burrows under the covers a bit more. _just sick from roller coasters and chocolate. ella had a bad idea. :(_

 _I hate rollercoasters, too .x_ Harry writes back. It makes George smile, especially when immediately followed by, _but LOUIS loves them...._

Louis does seem the type to love rollercoasters. Harry, though, likes everything slow and steady, so George can imagine rollercoasters wouldn't be his favorite thing. _I like them but 2 much chocolate before the ride and now i'm to get sleep and relax :( x_

 _good idea, love .xx_ Harry answers. _we'll check on you Later .x_

George doesn't really want Harry (or the implied Louis) to stop talking to him, but he is awfully tired and he is supposed to sleep, and his vision's gone blurry from tiredness. _Thnx miss u taalk latre xxxxx_

He turns his face into the pillow, then, and uses the onesie's hood to block out all of the light, and it's easy to fall into a deep sleep. It might be the best sleep he's had since he got to London, even if he does feel a little queasy where he lies on his belly.

Soft hands rub at his back and George wakes up very slowly, his eyes adjusting to see in the dim near-darkness of the room. He must have been out for hours.

"The performance!" he gasps, and sits up so quickly he cricks his neck.

"Shhh, no, you didn't miss it," Ella soothes. "How are you feeling?"

The answer to that question is 'faint', actually, from sitting up too fast. Or he thinks that's why, but the feeling doesn't go away even after he settles back down onto the bed. His mouth is dryer than ever and his throat hurts. 

"Fine," he croaks, shoving the blanket down. There's sweat pooling in the dips of his collarbones, and he shivers a little.

"You don't look fine," Ella says. Her brow pinches. "This is all my fault; I'm so sorry, Georgie."

"No, no." George flaps a hand at her, because he doesn't ever want Ella to feel bad about anything. "No, it's not your fault. I should've paced m'self better, or something."

Ella still looks sad. "But I didn't want to turn you off from chocolate. That's just a sorry state."

"Right now I'm a bit turned off from everything," George points out. "So at least it's not just chocolate? It's like, anything that's not sleep, or cuddles."

"What about singing?" Ella's voice is very soft as she gives his tummy a little rub through the onesie. "Do you think you can make it through just one song?"

"Got to, haven't I?" George sighs, relaxing back into his pillows. Ella's a very soothing person to be around when you're ill. "Don't really have a choice."

"Lucy sat out when she felt poorly," Ella points out.

"And now she's gone." George gives Ella an apologetic smile, because she'd been so close to Lucy and missed her fiercely.

Ella looks a bit downtrodden, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well -- yes, she is. But if you really don't think you can, they can hardly make you, can they? I just don't want you to really hurt yourself, if you're poorly."

"I'm not really poorly, I just feel sort of like I don't want to eat for the rest of the night," George says. "I will, probably, because Louis will want me to. But I'm alright. Just need a bit of a cuddle."

Ella leans over a bit to nudge off her shoes and then clambers over into the bed with George. "I haven't got a, you know, I'm not in One Direction, but I like to think I give an alright cuddle."

“You give the best cuddles," George assures her, and smushes his face into her neck. Her hair _does_ smell better than anyone else left in the competition.

"Good," she whispers to him, her arm curling around his shoulders. "I'll give you a cuddle whenever you need one. All you've got to do is ask."

George just gives her a little purring sound and snuggles closer. "How long 'til I have to put on trousers?"

"Around about an hour," Ella says. "Are you sure you want to go sing?"

"I have to." George doesn't _want_ to, particularly; what he _wants_ to do is stay in the room and have cuddles with Ella and watch a film or something, and sleep some more, but he's got a responsibility to the other boys and to the show and he needs to follow through on those.

Ella seems to understand, because she doesn't argue. She just rubs his back in little circles. "Okay."

George closes his eyes and sighs. He should probably get up, or brush his teeth, or do scales, or something productive. He just wants to stay here, though. He feels safe and warm when he's with Ella, and those are two of his favorite feelings.

All told, the performance goes alright. It's the first show that Union J have ever done that isn't on the X Factor stage -- or at least in front of Louis Walsh -- and that's kind of exhilarating. By the time they're being applauded, George feels right as rain.

"Alright?" Jaymi asks him under his breath while they're being shepherded off the stage. It's freezing out. George wonders if it's this cold at home.

"Just freezing my bits off," George assures him.

Jaymi laughs and gives George a rub on his shoulder. "Better than you were, anyway. It was weird without you there all day."

George gives him a shy little half-smile. "I heard Josh got lost in the maze."

" _Oh my god_ ," Jaymi laughs. "It was utterly pathetic!"

"It wasn't!" Josh huffs from in front of them, folding his arms over his chest. "It was reasonable! Who invented mazes, anyway? They're pointless. All you can do is get lost in them."

"That _is_ the point of them," Jaymi says dryly.

"Well, it's a stupid point." Josh's brows are pulled together in a sulk, and he looks about a second away from stamping his foot. "And anyway, if the point's to get lost, then I just did what I was supposed to do, didn't I?"

George presses his knuckles to his mouth to hold in his laughter. "Josh... d'you want a bit of a cuddle? Only you look like you need one."

Josh sighs. "You think everyone looks like they need a cuddle," he says. "George Shelley's plan for world peace: cuddle everyone."

"It would work." George shrugs. "I defy anyone to order a nuclear missile attack while being cuddled."

"I never said it wouldn't work. I think probably if you smiled at people they'd just all stop shooting each other." Josh offers George a little grin. "Really, you could fix the whole world with your face."

George preens a little at that, but doesn't know what to do with it. Things are -- different with Josh now, than they were. And that's good. But he doesn't know how to treat it yet, whether it's made of glass or stone.

"Glad you're feeling better," Josh offers, before he turns back to discuss something with JJ, probably their performance.

"Look at that," Jaymi murmurs in George's ear, and George turns to give Jaymi a centering hug. "I told you he's just slow to warm up."

"You did tell me." George feels warm and fuzzy. Everything's good even if the adrenaline's wearing off and his stomach is starting to feel a little dodgy again. "Sorry I didn't believe you."

"I forgive you," Jaymi says. "How are you feeling? D'you want some soup or broth or anything? Tea?"

"I should probably have something, shouldn't I?" asks George. "Should I? I'd like some tea. I can make it myself, though, don't put yourself out or anything."

"That's alright, I was going to make a cuppa," Jaymi assures him. "Do you want to watch a film? We can get Ella and Rylan and James and all have a lazy night."

"Oh, that sounds lovely," George groans. He reaches down to grab Jaymi's hand and squeeze it once. "Only if the others want to. I can just stay in and have tea while you all party it up in Disney."

"I think they're closing the park," Jaymi says. "And we're not famous enough yet for them to keep it open just for us."

"Maybe Rylan."

"Maybe Rylan," Jaymi agrees.

"Alright, let the others know and we can see what films are on the instant -- paying -- the buying thing, on the telly in our room." George frowns. "I can't remember the name of it. You know what I mean, though. I'll tell Ella."

Jaymi gives George a smooch -- there's no other word for such a squeaky, smacking, platonic kiss -- on the top of his head before going off, and George thinks, _yeah, this is exactly the sort of life I want. This is good._

His mobile vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. 

_Feeling better ?_

It's from Harry's number, but it's definitely Louis. George likes that he knows that. _Yeah just finished performing! Gonna do a night in with the others :)_

_That sounds good x you're feeling well then?_

_Yes! Loads better thanks for asking :) xx_ George sends, slowing down to at least let himself feel like he's more alone with them.

The phone rings in his hand.

"Good," says Louis' voice bossily when he answers. "You should eat some broth, then, and crackers. And tea, a good Yorkshire."

"I don't know if they've got crackers. I was going to have some tea, though." George can't stop himself from smiling, ducking his head a little. It's good to hear Louis' voice again.

"Good boy," Louis rewards him. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I might have soup. No more chocolate, though." George rubs his stomach. "Maybe never chocolate ever again."

"Well, that's upsetting," Louis says. "But probably smart for the night. You should try something with more substance for breakfast tomorrow. Eggs, I think." He pauses. "I'm not -- trying to tell you what to eat, or anything. I wouldn't do that unless you wanted."

"I know you wouldn't." George's voice goes all soft even though he's not trying to make it that way. "Thank you. I'm -- I _am_ trying? I promise I am."

"Me, too." Louis sighs. "I actually -- I talked to erm, erm, erm, I talked to... Nick, actually. Grimshaw. He said a lot of shit that was bullshit, but I did _try_ to talk to someone with more experience."

"So we're both trying, then?" George presses the phone closer to his ear like he'll be able to keep the words cupped near to him. "I think that's good, probably. Right?"

"Harry is nodding, so it must be," Louis sounds fond. "He's right more often than I like to tell him, you know."

"He is right an awful lot," George agrees. "I think he just wants what's best for you, and me. Weirdo."

Louis laughs once softly, but he sounds a little distracted, and George knows that he's probably curled up with Harry. He has a pang of soft jealousy and sharp loneliness in the pit of his chest.

He doesn't hold it against them, how they're together all the time and he's not, but it doesn't mean there's not a bit of envy, or hurt, or something. He wishes he could be there, or they could be here.

"We'll see you in just a few days," Louis says, and it's like he could hear through George's silence all the way from -- wherever One Direction are today. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, of course. Whenever you can, you know." George nudges at a clod of dirt with the toe of his shoe. Someone'll wonder where he is in a few minutes.

"D'you want to Skype tomorrow?" Louis asks gently. "I miss seeing your face."

"Please?" George winces. That sounded a bit desperate. Well, he _is_ desperate, but he doesn't like to sound it. "I mean, if you aren't busy doing One Direction things."

"I mean, that's mostly what we do, but we can take an hour for you," Louis says. His voice gentles. "We can always find time for you, George, I promise."

George wishes he was still wearing his onesie, so he could have a hood to pull down over his eyes. He clears his throat. "I -- thank you. Yes, yeah, I'd love to Skype. I don't know yet what we're doing tomorrow but I can let you know?"

"Yeah, just text. I forgot my mobile in London, so use Harry's number," says Louis, and George can _hear_ him rolling his eyes at himself.

"You must be going out of your mind." George laughs. Louis' always got his mobile with him. Sometimes he carries a charger as well just in case.

"It's Harry's fault," Louis grumps. "He was distracting me while we were leaving."

"He's good at that," George says, letting his mind whir with all the possible ways Harry could've been distracting Louis.

"He is," Louis agrees. "So are you. Now, we'll see you tomorrow on Skype, alright? Eat some soup and crackers and tea and feel better, and go have a cuddle with your boys and Ella, alright?"

"Well, if you insist." George smiles. "I suppose I could go for a cuddle or two. Bit of soup."

"There's a good lad," Louis says. It isn't quite the right _tone_ , but it gives George a pleased little rush all the same. "Go on, then, before they think Mickey's eaten you."

"I don't think that's how Mickey Mouse works."

"Don't trust giant animals who wear gloves, that's what I always say." Louis sounds very serious.

"Er, right," George giggles. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"We'll see you then. Bye, babe." Louis makes a kissing noise into the phone that tickles George's ear, and then there's a click as the call ends.

George pockets his mobile and trots back up to where Ella is walking arm-in-arm with Rylan. He crooks his elbow into her other arm.

"Hello, there," she greets, her cheeks gone pink with cold. "Nice talk?"

"Yeah, it was good," George reports. "Erm, when we get back, I need to find soup and crackers and tea. Yorkshire tea."

"That tea's disgusting," Rylan says. He makes a gagging sound that does not exactly help George's lingering queasiness. "It's like burnt leaves and piss."

"Well, it is burnt leaves," George points out. "Probably not piss, though."

"We'll get you soup and crackers and tea in from room service." Ella makes a huffing sound. "Can everyone stop being different heights? It's making it awfully hard to walk, like this."

"Sorry, babe." Rylan doesn't sound sorry, but he squats down and starts waddling alongside them with his knees bent nearly double. "Oi, at least you being midgets will give my glutes a good workout. Tomorrow I can say you're literally a pain in my bum."

Ella giggles a little and George smiles even though he wishes he had a pain of a different sort in his own bum. Christ, he needs to figure out a way to stop being so horny all the time. 

"It's not like you need the workout, is it?" George asks, eying Rylan's legs. "You're like a twig. A really tall twig." He's a little envious.

"Yeah, but if I'm not, then I start to look like that marshmallow bloke from Ghostbusters," Rylan says. "It's not pretty."

"I think you'd be pretty either way." Ella leans over to peck Rylan on the cheek. "Even if you were all marshmallow-y."

"Aw, you're gonna rot my teeth you're so sweet, love." Rylan kisses her back. "That's what we should watch tonight. Not my rotten teeth, no. Ghostbusters. Like Jedward, yeah?"

"Yeah, Team Louis!" George cheers.

"Oh, I bet you _are_." Rylan unwinds his arm from Ella's to reach over and ruffle George's hair. "Jedward should make a film. I'd go see a Jedward film."

"I might, like -- after it came out on DVD, maybe," George hedges. "Or rent it, or something. Under an assumed name."

"Nah, you can't claim Team Louis and not love a good Jedward," Rylan says. "And besides, everyone loves a skinny lookalike threesome."

George sort of chokes on air at that.

Rylan's grinning at him, eyes dancing when George looks up. "You're feeling better, yeah? I meant to come up to make sure you were okay, but you know how it is, Disney, innit?"

George giggles. "That doesn't make any sense! Isn't Disney supposed to make you care more about people?"

"Sucks all the life out of ya!" Rylan taps George's nose. 

George scrunches up his face and bats at Rylan's hand, laughing. "I like it here," he states. "Even if it is a bit cold."

"Yeah, and ya spent half your day on your knees. Retching, I mean," Rylan says. "That's not worth liking. I got to spend my day mindin' babies, at least."

"I don't really like babies." George hums quietly, watching his breath rise into the air. "I don't think I'm supposed to, though. They're just a bit, erm, loud."

"Well, and you grew up in a house constantly full of them," Ella says. She ruffles his hair. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"

" _Yes_ ," George says, pretending to be longsuffering about it. He likes how Ella fusses over him, when there's actually something to fuss about. "I promise. I just -- yeah, I'm supposed to have soup and crackers, and Yorkshire Tea, now."

"You're being awfully specific about that tea," Ella says meaningfully. "What if we can't get you Yorkshire?"

"Er." George isn't sure. Louis specifically said he should have Yorkshire Tea. "I don't know. It's supposed to be Yorkshire."

"Alright, that's fine." Ella squeezes his hand. "But what if we really can't get that? We're in France."

"I'll, I can." George's eyes flick toward Rylan, who is now carefully pretending not to listen. "I can ask?"

Ella gives George a little smile and rubs the back of his neck. "We'll see if we can find it."

"Okay, good." George relaxes a little, letting out a sigh and giving Ella a smile in return. He thinks maybe she's trying to understand a little better.

Back at the hotel, they order George up some chicken _bouillion_ and crackers, and it turns out that James had a box of Yorkshire tea -- apparently, a gift from Louis back in the Adam Burridge days, which makes George feel distinctly wrongfooted but not necessarily upset.

He forgets sometimes that other people -- and it's stupid, it's so stupid -- but he forgets that other people _know_ Louis, or Harry, or the both of them. He forgets it's not just him and them in the world and when he remembers, or when the realization sort of jumps out at him, it leaves him a little thrown off.

"This tea's fucking awful," James warns George as he hands over a bag. "It tastes like sock water."

"Maybe I like sock water." George has no idea what Yorkshire Tea tastes like, mostly because he had it once when he was six and decided he never wanted it ever again, which isn't promising.

James pinches his mouth and shakes his head in that distinctly _James Arthurish_ way and he gives George an affectionate little shove as they leave the room.

George tries smelling the bag but it just smells all tealike, so that isn't any help. He pulls out his phone to send Harry-but-really-Louis a text, _got yorkshire tea if it tastes like socks ill be sad :((_.

 _HOW VERY DARE YOU_ he gets immediately in response.

He laughs. He knew Louis was really -- intense, about his tea consumption, but he's never actually experienced it before. _& i'm getting soup  & crackers like you said :)_

 

_GOOD. DRINK THE TEA !!_

George sends back another smiley face and a kiss before shoving his phone back into his pocket. He never goes anywhere without it these days, always waiting or hoping for a text, maybe a phone call. Yesterday Harry texted him a picture of the back of his head with a fancy building in the background, and George stared at the screen of his phone for about an hour underneath his duvet, tapping the screen whenever it went dark.

Ella's arms wrap around George's waist. "You alright?"

George nods, relaxing against her. "Yeah. Got my tea, getting soup and crackers, and I've got you." He rubs the back of Ella's hand. "I'm the best, basically."

Ella kisses the back of George's hair. "Good. Let's watch Ghostbusters, then. You lads can get your Jedward on."

"Will you be Little Mix, then?" George asks. "Spread your wings and fly?"

Ella laughs. "No. I'll be the female boss."

"Like that isn't what you already are," teases George. "The boss of us all."

Ella smiles and tweaks George's cheek right at the dimple. "And don't you forget it."

"I won't ever," George promises, kissing her head. "Who's coming to our sleepover, then?"

“The lads," Ella says. She flounces off down the hall back to Union J's shared room.

"That tells me nothing!" George points out, jogging behind her. "We're all lads left except you!"

"No, you're all _boys_ other than me," Ella insists. "But you wouldn't really call Chris a lad, would you?"

"Well, he's not a _boy_ either, he's an Over," George says. "He's a man. And JJ probably, too, then. And Rylan. Probably everyone except me is a man."

"And me," Ella reminds him. "But you're all boys. Boys never stop being boys; they're boys until they die."

"Someone's been spending too much time with Tulisa," George mutters.

Ella grins at him. "She's really fun to talk to. And she let me borrow a lipstick from her, so my mentor beats yours."

"I don't know if I'd want Louis' lipstick," Jaymi butts in from where he's sprawled on one of the beds. "It probably tastes like OAP and menthol."

"And probably a bit like Simon Cowell's arse," offers Josh. "No thank you."

George piles onto the bed Jaymi's claimed and rubs his face on Jaymi's shoulder for a moment, snuggling close into his side.

"Hi, little monkey," Jaymi laughs. "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads," mumbles George, finally comfortable. He holds out his arm toward Ella without pulling his face out of Jaymi's shirt. He smells nice and George likes it.

After he's eaten his soup, George cuddles back up between them, and JJ wanders over to come lean up against George's legs, and he's covered with people he really, really likes.

Josh doesn't tend to be big on physical affection, even if they're all slowly corrupting him, but he mutters and then joins their cuddlepile, curled up by the pillows near George's head. He ruffles George's hair once and that's it, but it's still something.

Of course, it's all slightly ruined when Rylan comes over and jumps atop them to sprawl over all of them at once, lounging like Cleopatra -- or like himself in that one performance where he wore the gold shorts and was carried around by servants.

James just sighs at them a lot and shakes his head, but that's James, really. Rylan's brought him out of his shell a bit but he's always going to be the same James, more or less.

Halfway through the movie, James wanders off for five minutes and comes back with a pizza. It's inexplicable, but George sort of adores him for it -- now that his stomach isn't dodgy, the grease and tomato sauce are kind of amazing. He'll just find a French gym for an hour tomorrow.

He feels good now, warm and comfortable surrounded by all the people he likes. He wishes it'd stay this way forever. He doesn't even care about the film, can't remember which one it is and glancing at the screen gives him no clues. 

George closes his eyes and basks in this feeling. It's not -- it's nothing like being with Louis and Harry, but he still feels _safe_ right now, and he thinks maybe that's important too.

The next day, George has just slumped back into his hotel room after an hour's work in the gym to find his laptop burbling insistently at him with a Skype call from Harry and Louis.

He nearly falls over himself to answer it before they end the call, only realizing once he's accepted it that he looks a mess, all sweaty and exhausted. At least they won't be able to smell him. He envies them a little for that.

"Hi!" Harry chirps. "You look quite rugged and manly."

"Look," George says, and lifts his shirt a little. "I have an ab now!"

"Just the one?" Harry makes an aborted movement toward the screen before he seems to remember he can't actually touch George and his hand falls back to his side. It makes George ache a little, and he drops his shirt.

"Yeah, just the one." George rubs over his tummy absently. "But it's more than I did have."

"It looks fantastic," says Louis from his position in the ‘V’ of Harry’s legs. "You look fantastic. Bit tired."

"I am, a bit," George admits. He flattens out on the bed and looks at them at an angle where his chin rests on the bedspread. "If the spin bike is to be believed, I've done the Tour de France today. Sort of."

"Make sure you get some rest in later," Louis instructs. "And plenty of fluids. Water, even if I wish we could be giving you a fluid of a different sort."

"Ew," George says.

"It has protein and electrolytes," Harry says. "I think it does."

"It definitely does," affirms Louis. "That's why you're so healthy, innit? You're fucking obsessed with it."

Harry just preens at that and nuzzles into Louis' neck like a cat, and it's so fond that George has to giggle. Then again, he's a pretty easy giggler.

"How've you been doing, babe?" Louis asks him, kissing Harry's wrist, but his eyes are on the screen, on George. "Feeling better today, I hope?"

"Yeah, I'm fine now," George confirms. "Just too much chocolate while on roller coasters."

"Never a good idea." Louis smiles at him all crinkly-eyed and gorgeous. George misses him so much. "I'm glad you're feeling alright now. We were worried."

George _wants_ to say, _oh, don't worry about me, I'm not worth that_. It's on the tip of his tongue. But when he says things like that, it makes Harry and Louis sad, and he doesn't want them to be sad. So he doesn't say it, and thinks instead that maybe -- maybe -- it makes them sad because they really don't think that's true.

"Yeah, all better," he says, shuffling a little closer to the screen. "Ella kept my mind off it, anyway."

"I'm glad you have her," Harry says, peering at George through his fringe as he keeps his head ducked to pepper kisses over Louis' neck.

"So am I." George bites his lip and watches the way Louis' eyelashes flutter and he tips his head back to silently tell Harry where he wants his mouth. They're so beautiful together, and George wishes he could be there with them. "She's been there for me since this all started."

Harry looks soft at that. "She's like your Louis. Only a girl. And other things."

"And I'm not -- doing any of _that_ with her," George says, alarmed. "She's just my best friend. Well, she's not _just_ anything, but she's not -- we're not -- " He huffs quietly. "You know we're not."

"I know," Louis assures him. "And that's okay. I know you're ours, and you're so good for us."

Praise feels so _good_ when it comes from Louis. George has to duck his head down and breathe for a second before he can respond.

"I _am_ yours." He fiddles with his bracelet.

"You are," Louis soothes. "Do you want to show us how good you are, or are you too tired?"

"Please?" It's like any exhaustion George felt disappears at the thought of what Louis' suggesting, and he sits up a little on his elbows. "Can I, please?"

Louis smiles, and George's eyes go a little round as Louis' hands start undoing Harry's trousers on the screen. "Of course you can, love. Go on and take your clothes off for us, please."

George sits up and wobbles a little before he rebalances. He goes for the hem of his t-shirt but stops, thinking of the door and the way Rylan or Ella will sometimes just pop in without knocking.

"Can I -- lock the door?" he asks quietly.

Louis tilts his head. "No, I don't think so."

George's heart starts beating faster. He was half expecting that, he thinks. "Okay," he accepts, and he pulls his shirt off, dropping it next to the bed.

"Oh, you do have an ab now." Louis sounds amused, and his eyes are sparkling a little when George looks at the screen again. Louis has Harry's cock out now and is stroking it lazily as Harry strips off his shirt.

"I'm proud of it," says George, running his fingers over his stomach. There are muscles there that he can feel now, even though they're still sore from his workout.

"You should be," Louis praises. "I can tell you've worked hard." He hums quietly as Harry pushes Louis' soft pajama pants from his hips, freeing his own still-soft dick. "Your hands look good touching your skin."

George smiles, letting his other hand join the first. He's still got his shorts on, so he tucks his thumbs into them to push them down.

"Not yet," Louis says quickly. "Are you hard?"

George shakes his head. He has a nice semi going, seeing Harry so hard and flushed and proud on the screen, but he _is_ just alone in a hotel room with a computer and he's sort of sore and sweaty. He will be hard soon, he thinks, but. Not yet.

"Get hard first," Louis commands. "Now. Practice for me."

"Without my hands?" asks George. "Like Harry does?" He doesn't know if he can do that. It looks difficult when Harry does it and Harry's been learning for a lot longer than George has.

Louis nods slowly as Harry bends over Louis' lap and nuzzles at Louis' cock. "But you can watch."

George lets out a breath and settles his hands on the bed beside him, fisting into the duvet. He can try, at the very least. It'll be like, like teasing himself, sort of.

Louis smiles lazily and pulls his shirt over his head by the back of the neck, so his soft hair is all askew like a soft halo. He pets one hand over Harry's curls where Harry is still humming and nuzzling and kissing diligently over Louis' lap.

Even just seeing the way Harry looks like this, happy and flushed, and like this is all he ever wants to do, be good for Louis, makes George twitch a little. He understands that feeling so well. He wants to help Harry, get both of their mouths on Louis at once and make him feel good.

"Next time I see you," Louis begins thoughtfully, his eyes trained on George even as he pets at Harry's hair and the back of his neck, "I want you and Harry to suck me off together. You can help each other out."

"Yes, _please_." George doesn't think he accidentally spoke out loud this time, and it's exciting that Louis wants the same things he does.

Louis' lips flicker into a smile. "Good, I thought you might like that," he says, fingers curling into Harry's hair.

George nods, shifting a little. He wants to suck Louis off so badly, or Harry, wants the weight of them in his mouth and the overwhelming smell and taste of them all over him. "Can I -- can I put my fingers in my mouth, please?" he asks quietly. "It might help me."

Louis looks contemplative. "This time," he allows. "As it's your first try." He smiles then. "And I like how you look with something in your mouth."

George moans gratefully and sucks down on two fingers.

It's nice to have _something_ to suck on, even if all he can taste is his own skin, and it's not quite thick or long enough.

On the screen, Louis' dick is starting to fill and thicken under Harry's careful mouth, and George wants that, he wants to know that what he's doing makes Louis happy like that.

"Such nice lips," Louis says then, and George would think he's talking to Harry except he's still looking right at George. "I love watching you suck on things. You like it so much, don't you?"

George nods, watching as Harry delicately licks over the head of Louis' now-hard cock. "Want you."

"You will soon, love, promise." Louis' voice is a little rough around the edges. "Are you focusing on getting hard for me?"

George nods a little desperately. "Mm-hmm."

"Good," Louis says. "If I were there, I'd have my fingers in you by now. But you can't have any fingers until you're hard, can you? That's not allowed today."

"Not allowed," George agrees. He's trying, and watching the way Harry's mouth moves on Louis is helping, but he wants his fingers inside himself now, and he wants to touch himself, and it's so hard to keep his hands where they are.

Louis stretches a little, tan and pretty. "Harry's good, but I miss your mouth. I want to watch you and Harry with your mouths on each other. Maybe sometime you can both spend the whole day naked and I'll tell you what to do all day. Would you like that?"

"Yes, please." George has always wanted that, thinks he'll want it even after he's got it. "Please, I want it."

Louis smiles and closes his eyes. "It will have to be a day that you don't need to sing after. I want you to go down on Harry's cock until you can get him in your throat easy, babe."

" _Please_." He's wanted to do that again ever since the first time. He wants to suck Harry's cock until he can't speak anymore, over and over until he just can't.

He remembers what it was like last time, taking all of Harry's dick in his mouth, down his throat, the burn of it and the way it had felt afterward. He wants that again, for as long as he can have it. To have his face fucked so hard that even his voice belongs to them.

Thinking about that, it's working a bit. He is getting hard, but it's not as quickly as he'd like. It's not as quickly as Harry could do it, anyway, and he wants to be as good as Harry because Harry makes Louis _so_ happy.

"You're being so good, aren't you?" Louis asks, lowering his voice. "You're always so good for us. You try so hard."

George nods and loses some of the suction on his fingers; he sucks them back into his mouth, watching as Harry gives Louis just little licks all over the head of his cock while working his hand slowly over the shaft.

"I want you, I want -- suck you," George mumbles. He shifts in his seat again.

"I know you do. You can when we see you, promise." Louis sounds a little breathless now, and George doesn't blame him. "Show me how you would, with your fingers, babe."

George pulls back and looks at Louis with huge eyes as he flits his tongue over the tips of his fingers so Louis can see, then slurps them down and has the tiniest vicious thought that _Harry can't do this_.

It's catty, but that's alright if it's just in his head, he thinks. Louis moans quietly, and George is going to tell himself it's all for him.

"Are you getting hard for me, darling?" Louis asks with a glance down, and George doesn't know if Louis can see the bulge in his trousers but it's visible now so he shifts onto his knees to make sure.

"Yeah," George says tentatively. "Can I touch it yet?"

Louis hums quietly. "You can take your trousers off," he says.

George's eyes flutter as he stands and pushes down the exercise shorts he'd worn to the gym. "Thank you, Louis."

“You're welcome." Louis murmurs something to Harry too quiet for George to hear, and then speaks louder. "You can touch yourself now, but only through your pants. Don't take them off."

George takes his fingers out of his mouth and when he presses his hand over the growing bulge in the front of his black pants, they're warmer and wetter than his hand would be on its own. It helps, though the fabric -- makes it feel a little alien, like someone else is touching him instead of himself.

He really wishes someone else were actually touching him, but this is almost enough, Louis telling him what to do to himself. It still makes George feel good, and happy, and he's still going to get off on it.

"You did a very good job for your first try, George," Louis murmurs.

George gasps softly, and he grinds the heel of his palm down against himself. "Good for you," he murmurs. "Want to be so good for you."

"I know," Louis soothes. "That's why I want you to come in your pants and wear them the rest of the day."

The thought makes George moan and he has to stop moving his hand as arousal spikes in his stomach. "I -- all day?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm," Louis murmurs. He pushes his fingers through Harry's hair and grits his teeth and there's a sharp pause as Louis comes, almost silent, into Harry's mouth.

All day, having to walk around with sticky shorts and smelling like sex and the others knowing it's because of Louis and Harry; George moans again. "Okay," he whispers, moving his hand again.

"Good boy," Louis whispers, but when George looks up at the screen instead of his hand, he's saying it to Harry, whose mouth is open to show Louis the come on his tongue.

George's breath catches at how proud Louis looks of Harry, kissing his head and then telling him he's allowed to swallow.

It stings a little. He knows that Harry is submissive to Louis, too, and it's _beautiful_ to watch them together, but he wants -- he doesn't want to see it. He wants to be Louis' good boy, the only one, even if he's not, really.

It's selfish but it feels wrong for Louis to tell someone else they've been good. George wants it to just be him, and Harry can make Louis happy but George wants to be the only good boy Louis has.

At least when George is there. And George is _with_ them right now, even if they're far away; they can see him and he can hear them and that's what counts.

He moans loudly to get Louis' attention back.

It works, and Louis' gaze refocuses on George. He looks satisfied, with a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks George politely.

George shrugs a little petulantly.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "I don't think I told you to stop touching yourself, Georgie," he says softly.

George blinks at him twice before bringing his hand back to the front of his pants. George makes a real show of it so he can keep Louis' attention this time, sprawling back with his elbows on the bed so his spread legs splay out wantonly and Louis can see everything.

"Good, just like that. You look so good, love." From his position, George can see Louis leaning closer to the screen. "That's perfect. You're perfect."

George preens a little as a hot flush spikes through his belly at the reward. He curls his fingers around the heavy shape of his dick through his pants and strokes his thumb around the ridge of the head, glad when it comes away from the material a little sticky.

"Keep on like that. I want you to make noise when you come. Loud, tell me how much you like it," Louis commands.

"It's nice, but be better if it was you," George says pointedly. He slides his hand down a little, the material getting a bit rough on the stretched head of his prick.

Louis tuts. "Everything would be better if it was me," he mutters, grinning when Harry gives him a halfhearted smack. "Door's not locked, is it, George? If you're loud enough, someone might just come in and see you."

George shivers a little at that and lets out a little groan.

"Louder," says Louis immediately. "It's these speakers, they're awful, can't hear you at all. You've got to be louder for me."

"Oh, _fuck_ , Louis," George answers right away. It's a little too porny for his taste, with his pants still on; it's more of a performance than a good wank and he feels a little like he's going to get votes after. It's alright though -- a hand on his cock is a hand on his cock.

"I like the noises you make," Louis tells him. "You don't even notice them, I don't think. Just when you really like something you make these sounds under your breath. They're my favorites. I like fucking them out of you."

George grunts for real at that, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as his cock spits out a little precome in appreciation. "Wish you were fucking me. Wish I was fucking _you_."

"So do I. I can't wait to see you again so you can. I miss having you inside me." Louis licks his lips on the screen. "I still get a hard-on in Harry's car sometimes because of you."

George bites his lip and nods, and -- he can't help it -- a tiny giggle bubbles up in him just because he's so _glad_. He wants Louis to get hard because of him. He hopes Harry's backseat still reeks of his come.

"Cute," Louis informs him. He sounds playfully outraged. "I won't stand for you being cute when you're about to come."

George ducks his head and his hair flops into his eyes. He may need to cut it soon even if Harry doesn't give him permission. "I can't help it."

"Only one thing for it. You've got to come for me. Let me see you, George." Louis smiles. "I want to see you come."

George presses down against the hard outline of his cock until it almost hurts, his hips bucking up like that will give him something good to work against instead of just the weight of his own hand, and he screws his eyes shut to imagine fucking Louis, screwing him hard into the mattress of Harry's big bed.

"That's right," comes Louis' voice from the speakers. "All for me, isn't it?"

George nods and comes with a low, growling groan, spilling into the front of his pants in three sticky bursts.

" _Perfect_ ," murmurs Louis, his voice pleased. That's what George wanted, to please Louis, to make him happy.

He collapses back on the bedspread, winded.

This causes Louis to make a disgruntled sound. "I can't see you now. Put the computer where I can see you," he commands.

George makes a protesting little noise, but sits up enough to bat at the laptop until it angles enough that Louis can see him lying atop the bed all sweaty and dirty-knickered.

"There we go." Louis is rubbing Harry's head but he's looking at George, and that's what matters. "Harry's very sad he can't clean you up, babe."

"Me, too," George mumbles. "Sticky."

"I know, but you're not going to, are you? You're going to stay just like that, and get dressed, and smell like spunk all day."

George blushes red and nods. "Yeah, I will. Can I, erm, but I need to shower from the gym?"

"Put the dirty pants back on after," Louis shrugs. "Nice clean George smelling like sex."

He feels a bit better about it now. He doesn't mind smelling like sex, knows that'll make him think of Harry and Louis, but he's all sweaty too and not just from wanking. If he doesn't shower, he'll drive off everyone in droves.

"I still think you just look rugged," Harry pipes up from where his head is rested on Louis' thigh.

"That's 'cause you can't smell me," George informs him.

"Which I'm very sad about." Harry pouts at George. "You'll let me smell you when we see you, won't you?"

"I guess so." George giggles. "Dunno why you'd want to. Normally I smell pretty standard."

"You smell like ours," says Harry plaintively. "Like our George."

"Soppy." George rolls over and rubs his face on the blankets just to feel like some of the sweat's off his skin. He really does feel quite disgusting.

"That's Harry for you." Louis laughs. "Go have a shower, gorgeous. We'll call you later, if you'd like.”

"I would, thanks," George admits. "I'm nervous for this weekend. I have a bad feeling."

"You'll be fine," Louis assures him. "Your fans will have gotten all riled up from last week, and you don't have the other boy band to compete with."

"Yeah, I know that," George hedges. "I just -- I have this _feeling_. I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm missing Rylan already."

"Where's he gone?" asks Louis with some surprise. "Isn't he there with the rest of you?"

"Yeah, but I mean -- everyone knows his psychic said he'd go this week. I think I'll just miss him."

"Are you good mates with him, then?" Louis asks, shifting around a little, probably to make himself more comfortable. Harry's head is still on his thigh, and he doesn't move it. "I didn't know that; I thought you mostly talked to your other Js and Ella."

"No, I love Rylan," George says earnestly. "He's a good laugh. I like everyone who's left except Christopher."

Louis wrinkles his nose a little, distaste clear on his face. "Good to know my instincts aren't off on that one. Is he as much of a dick as he looks on the show?"

George tilts his head where it rests on his forearms and considers his answer. "He's -- I think he really does love singing. But he's just not nice to be around the way everyone else is. Maybe it's because he's old, but I did like Melanie a lot."

"He can love singing all he likes, doesn't mean he'll sell records. Which he won't. Who would buy his records, aside from his nan?" Louis complains. George can see that Harry is sort of muffling laughter, and imagines they must have this conversation every weekend or so.

George shrugs. "Not _my_ nan, that's for sure. She does have your record, though. I think she has a crush on Niall."

"Everyone's nan has a crush on Niall. There's something about his face; it's very appealing to the elderly." Louis shrugs a bit. "Maybe it's the Irish."

George snorts. He's too tired to do much of anything else, between the hour at the gym and the exorbitantly difficult wank.

"Why don't you go get clean, and then maybe have a nap?" Harry suggests gently. "You look tired and it's early."

George nods and yawns as though on cue. "I think I will. Unless I have to go sing."

"Good, yeah. We'll talk to you later. Replenish your fluids," demands Louis. "I don't want you getting dehydrated and falling over."

"Okay," George agrees. He yawns again and it's so fierce his eyes water a bit. Maybe he'll nap first, then shower, and then drink some water. They didn't tell him what order he had to do things, did they? Oh, Harry did. George grunts and flops around until his feet hit the floor.

"You okay? Have we broken you?" Louis asks, and he's teasing but there's a little concern behind his words. Or maybe there isn't, and George's tired brain is just making things up.

"Jussleepy," he mutters, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"You can sleep first, if you need to. Don't want you passing out in the shower and hitting your head." Louis frowns.

"I'm not stupid," George grumbles for what feels like the hundredth time with Louis. "I won't, anyway. Standing will wake me up."

"I didn't... say you were stupid," Louis sighs. "Alright. Whatever you want to do."

"I'm sorry," George says immediately. He rubs his eyes again and then looks at Louis through the screen of his laptop. He picks it up so he can see them closer. "I don't mean to snap."

"No, it's my fault. I know you don't like it when I do that." Louis pats Harry's shoulder, and Harry sits up. "You didn't snap. You never do."

George bites his lip. Harry's hair is all mussed on one side and he looks younger than usual. "I'm sorry all the same."

"You shouldn't be. Apology accepted, though." Louis touches his fringe, pushing it up away from his face. "Go on, do what you need to do."

George smiles. "Will you still ring me later?"

"Yes," Louis promises. "And you had better be wearing those same pants."

"I will be. Swear," George adds. He knows that Harry and Louis are busy, and they probably have other things to do than talk to him. The least he can do is the one thing they want.

"Such a good boy," Louis murmurs, and George's heart trip-hammers with pride.

He swings his legs back off the bed, reluctant to leave even though he knows he needs that shower. He smells awful. He doesn't want to end the call, though, because he knows already he'll miss looking at Louis and Harry.

"You could leave the laptop on the counter if you wanted," Harry says innocently. "I don't mind looking at wet, naked you."

Louis looks delighted at the idea. It makes George want to do it just for him.

"I'll have to be careful not to get it wet," he muses. "Showers are really, they tend to be quite wet, don't they?"

He pauses. "You could pretty rightfully treat me stupid for that one. Sorry."

"You're right, showers are quite wet," Louis says instead of telling him how much of an idiot he is. He looks very serious, but George is almost positive it's the sort of serious face he does when he's making fun. "It's almost like they're made of water, or something."

George scrunches up his nose. "Fine, you don't get to see me naked at all today."

Louis looks honestly disappointed. "You're a cruel man, George Shelley," he says. "A cruel, cruel man."

George ducks his head to look at Louis from beneath his lashes. "Alright. You can see me naked."

"I love it when you do that." Louis is smiling now, like he can't help it. "All -- what's the word? -- coquettish. Charmer."

"I thought coquettish were those foods," Harry says, his brow furrowing. "No, wait, that's -- never mind, that's croquettes. Not coquettes."

"Courgette, more like, with the cock on him," Louis disagrees.

"That's awful," Harry and George groan at once.

"I should revoke your naked privileges again," George says.

"Fuck, _I_ should revoke your naked privileges, that was so bad," Harry says. "I get an extra bad pun for the day."

"It wasn't as bad as at least three-quarters of yours!" protests Louis with a sulk on. "That was definitely witty and brilliant. I am underappreciated."

"You are witty and brilliant," Harry assures him with a little kiss to the scruffy underside of Louis' jaw. "But George's cock is much lovelier than a green vegetable."

"I'd've expected you to make a carrot pun," George says.

Louis shoots him a death glare.

"We don't talk about that," Harry says into the ensuing silence. "It is that which we don't speak of."

"Carrots are your Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes!" Harry claps and grins at George. "Exactly like that. Vegetablemort."

"That's your extra one," Louis sighs. "You've already wasted it. George, go shower. Or bring us with you. Either way, this just needs -- Harry, be quiet for the next thirty minutes, please."

Harry doesn't make a sound. His eyes are even soft when he looks up at Louis, and George pangs a little again with the want to tell them _stop_ , _he's_ the one who gets to do what Louis wants and be good.

That's not fair at all, though, because they were each other's first. And he's not just extra, not anymore, but it doesn't mean he's the same as them, not at all. 

"I'll talk to you later," he offers, because he doesn't think he can do it now, wash up like they won't be there with Louis telling Harry he's doing really well and he's a good boy. 

George's stomach twinges.

Louis frowns. Harry frowns, too, but Louis is the one who says, "Are you alright?"

George smiles, a really good one. "Yeah. Just sleepy, like I said. And I smell rank."

"Okay," Louis says. He's still frowning. "Are you wearing your collar, love?"

It's slid down George's wrist, but he holds his hand up to show it's there, black beads a sharp contrast to his skin. "Yeah," he says softly. "I don't like to take it off."

"Good," Louis says softly. "I like seeing it on you. When do you come back from Paris?"

"Wednesday, tomorrow?" George says, tugging on his collar with two fingers. It makes him feel a little less twitchy.

"We can see you that night, I think," Louis says. He looks down at Harry and strokes his fringe back from his forehead. "We're free tomorrow, aren't we? You can nod or shake your head."

Harry nods silently, smiling back at Louis, and George has to look away. He's not -- _right_ for this, right now, he doesn't think. He feels off-center. "I'd like that," he says quietly.

"Alright, darling," Louis murmurs. He gives George a timid sort of smile. "I miss you. We both do, but. I miss you being with us. You're so good. Even when you're tired and sweaty and sticky."

"I wish I was with you all the time." George swallows. It'd probably be better that way. Maybe he wouldn't get this weird jealousy clawing at his insides if he was just with them. "I miss you a lot."

Louis' eyes gentle. "That would be really nice. Now go take your shower. I want you to wank again while you're in there, and then after you're all dry, put the dirty pants back on. You should wear a blue shirt today, too. Send me a photo after you're dressed to show me."

A shiver rolls down George's spine and he nods. He still feels sensitive from his first orgasm but he wants to make Louis happy, and he likes being told what to wear a _lot_. "Okay, I will," he says out loud. "Do you -- Is there anything else you want me to wear?"

Louis tilts his head. "I'd like for you to start wearing tighter trousers. We've bought you some, and we'll give them to you Wednesday."

"I can do that," says George slowly. He'd thought the trousers he's been wearing are plenty tight. Certainly tighter than any he's ever worn before. "Not leather, though?"

"No, not leather," Louis laughs. "Just skinny jeans."

"Oh, alright. Yeah, I can wear them. I don't, here, though, all I have are my normal trousers. I don't have anything really. Tight." George frowns. "I'd ask to bum some off Rylan but he's eight feet taller than me."

Louis looks a little put out. "I know the feeling. I can't borrow trousers from Harry anymore, either."

Harry shrugs a little minxishly.

"Quiet, you," Louis mumbles even though Harry hasn't technically spoken. "The legs are too long for me," he confesses. "They just trail off after me. I look like a toddler."

"I can't imagine the bum fits right, either," George says, giggling. "Harry doesn't have one, and yours is -- "

"Massive, yes," Louis sighs. "It's terribly unfortunate. I always have to wear my own trousers and the others can just trade off because nobody else has an arse."

"Well, I'm fond of yours," George assures him. "I'll wear the tightest trousers I can find. And a blue shirt. And my sticky pants."

"Good boy," praises Louis. "And then you'll take a picture for me."

George smiles and nods. "I will. I'm gonna go. I'll talk to you later."

"Of course," confirms Louis. "Enjoy your wank."

George grins at that. "That's the point, isn't it? So I'm sure I will."

"Sure you will. We'll miss you, bye!" Louis says before the call ends with a bloop.

Later, George slides into a seat beside Ella for a Parisian picnic lunch out in the cold. Josh and JJ take up the other side of the table; Jaymi and Rylan are off somewhere having one of their heart-to-heart talks.

"Hi, Ella Bear." George kisses the side of her head before he plops into his seat.

Ella leans over to kiss his cheek, but pauses as she pulls away. "You smell funny. Like... the ocean, but not? Maybe a lake. Why do you smell like a lake?"

"Er," says George. He sort of wants to die. "Would you believe there are lakes here? And I've just been to one of them?"

Ella raises an eyebrow. "No."

"I've got lake-scented soap?" George tries.

"George."

“Ella, love," Josh says gently, "I think George was doing special man-things before lunch."

"Is going to lakes a manly thing?" JJ asks, his brow furrowed.

Josh's mouth twitches a little. "Very manly," he confirms. "Have you smelled George today, JJ?"

JJ frowns a little deeper. "No, and now I don't want to."

"Probably best for all of us," Josh reasons, taking another bite of the sandwich in his hand.

"Wait," Ella says. She looks from Josh to George and then up a bit as though she's doing calculations.

George tries his best to look innocent as Josh muffles laughter into his sandwich.

Ella looks very slowly at George. "But your hair's wet. You've just -- _you have just showered, haven't you, that's why your hair is wet_?"

"Yeah, I went to the gym this morning and got really sweaty, needed one." George shifts a little but it just reminds him of the stickiness in his pants so he moves back into his original position.

"So if you showered, why would you still smell like -- "

"I'm really really positive you don't actually want to know the answer to that," George says over the end of her sentence. " _Really_ positive."

He moves his left hand purposefully so that his black beaded bracelet shows prominently. 

"You're right," Ella says. Her nose wrinkles. "I really don't. Good lord, George, we're at _Disneyland_."

"I know," grumbles George. "It's really far away from everything."

"It's also full of innocent children and blissful families," Ella sniffs. "Now eat your sandwich."

George isn't _really_ hungry, but _that_ certainly wouldn't go over well. Even Josh has started to give him vaguely frowny looks when he doesn't eat. Or, well, that's sort of what Josh's face is just like. He takes a sandwich and pretends not to notice when Ella relaxes a bit.

All truth told, he is actually a bit hungry after not eating all night last night from being ill and then going to the gym. 

Once he takes a bite of the sandwich, he's more than a bit hungry. He eats it more quickly than he can remember eating anything -- other than yesterday's blasted chocolate -- in ages. Louis will be happy with that, too.

He licks crumbs off his thumb and brushes some from his shirt before he looks back up at the others. "What're we doing today?"

"Nice, wholesome Disney things," Ella says. "And then singing."

"I'll have you know, Miss Henderson, I'm very wholesome all the time." George sticks his tongue out at her. "And nice. I'm very wholesome and nice."

"Sure, you just took a quick dip in the Channel," Ella says wryly. She pops a macaron in her mouth and raises her eyebrows pointedly at him.

"I could have; you don't know." George huffs. "Maybe I really really like swimming, and lakes. Maybe I wanted to make friends with some fish."

"Monkeys aren't friends with fish," says Josh.

"Maybe they would be if they could swim," George muses. "Maybe monkeys and fish are soulmates destined to never meet because monkeys haven't got gills. Ever think of that? Oh my god," he groans. "I'm actually turning into Harry."

"Does -- he say things like that?" Ella asks curiously. "Because that's completely mad."

"So's he. Have you ever tried having a conversation with him? He's mental. I miss him." George picks at a thread in the knee of his trousers. They're his tightest and he still thinks they probably don't qualify as _tight_.

Ella shakes her head and ruffles her fingers through George's damp hair.

That's quite nice. George butts his head against her hand in a silent request for more of the same.

Ella keeps fluffing his hair, and George tentatively eats first one, then two and three madeleines.

It takes him a while, and in between he has to tell himself _a few won't hurt, it'll be fine, they'll still like you when you get back_ but he does get the third one down.

Ella kisses the side of George's head. "They're good, aren't they? I wish I could just live in Paris and do nothing but eat. And sing. I'll be a courtesan singer like two hundred years ago, please."

"You'd get guillotined eventually," Josh points out. "They all did, I think."

"But I'd be really happy before that." Ella shrugs. "Maybe I'd hide in someone's cellar."

"Hide in the catacombs," JJ pipes up. "During World War II, both the French Resistance and the Nazis had troops hiding for secret meetings in the catacombs, and they're so large that they never even knew the other group was there."

There's a moment of silence after JJ speaks, because sometimes he just pops in with these _elaborate_ bits of trivia, and no one has any idea where he's stored them.

"I'd hide in them, then," Ella agrees after a few seconds. "Thanks, JJ. You probably just saved my hypothetical life."

JJ grins at her and goes back to pulling bits away from a cannelle.

Ella leans herself onto George's shoulder and smiles, hooking her arm around his. "It's looking like we're going to do a lot of walking today. Hope you're wearing good shoes for it."

"These boots were _made_ for walking."

"As are all boots," JJ points out.

"Well, yes, technically," agrees George. "But these are my walking boots."

Paris is fun. Ella insists on finding Le Point Zero because of some romance book she read, and they all take picture posing atop its bronze star at the very center point of Paris.

It's something George never thought he'd get to do in a million years, and certainly not while he's wearing an outfit Louis Tomlinson chose for him. He can't stop smiling when everything's as lovely as it is.

He sends Harry and Louis the photo of him in the blue shirt at Le Point Zero, and Louis texts back, _such a good gorgeous boy xxx_

It keeps George in a good mood for the rest of the day, and he looks at the text sometimes when he needs a little boost.

Rehearsals go well. It's not a hard week, since they're only singing "Call Me Maybe." They all take the Eurostar home early Thursday and Rylan, hungover on absinthe, rests his head in James' lap and his feet in Ella's and whines loudly the entire way.

Whoever goes first, them or Rylan, George knows he's going to miss him more than almost anyone else. Rylan's one of George's favorite parts of being on the X Factor.

Ella, too, of course, but George doesn't think he'll have to worry about missing Ella until _all_ of the contestants have been separated and are missing each other.

She's dealing with a hungover Rylan remarkably well, rubbing his calves and either listening to him intently or doing a very good job of faking it. When George sits next to her, she snaps her head around toward him, so probably the latter.

"Hello, Ella Bear." George rests his head on her shoulder. He gives Rylan's shin a little pat.

"Hi," she says a little desperately, lost underneath Rylan's wail of, "I'm _dying_ , Georgie!"

"You aren't dying. 'Cause heroes get remembered, but legends never die," George says. Rylan does seem to perk a little at that.

Ella looks very grateful. "Excited to be going home?" she asks, turning enough that she can kiss George's head. "You smell a sight better today."

George flushes deep pink. "Yeah, I am. I'll, erm, not be at the hotel tonight."

"Oh!" Ella lowers her voice. "Is it, _you-know-who_? Are you going to theirs?"

George nods. "They bought me trousers, so I'm going to go get those."

She frowns a little. "They bought you trousers? They're not, like, bright turquoise, are they?" she says doubtfully. "I've seen how they dress."

George laughs. "Harry's trousers are normal colors. And no, I think they're just jeans."

"Well, I hope Harry's got better taste in trousers." Ella still looks a bit uncertain but less than she was before. "They're not -- weird ones? Like, for special -- sex things?"

George laughs at that with his head tipped back, and Rylan bats at the air in front of himself tetchily. 

"Sorry," George whispers. "No, I think they're just normal jeans."

"Good." Ella nudges his shoulder with her own. "I do worry about you a bit, you might've noticed."

"I have, but you don't have to," George says. He nudges her right back. "I promise, Ella Bear. Things are really good."

"You look happier," she notes softly. "I like it. Happy suits you."

George gives her a little grin before kissing her cheek. "Thanks."

"Oh, stop it, you, I'm not one of your JCats." Ella bats at his shoulder. "Put that smile away."

"You can both put your voices away, ta," Rylan grouses. "Loud children."

"Inside voices, love, inside voices," George says as quietly as he can, his lips twitching.

As soon as they get back to London, George shoots a text to Harry that he's back in the UK.

 _Are you tired or anything?_ Harry sends back, _Or can we pick you up soon?_

 _I'm not tired.... I'm pumped! X_ George sends back. It's true. He's missed them, being in Paris, and he's excited to see them. He feels good.

Harry takes a moment to text back this time. _We can be there in 30min? At the hotel right? .x_

_Yeah or I can come to you?_

Another, longer pause. _Lou wants to see u in my car again._

 _Hahahahaha.... I'm OK with that! X_ George sends back, and has to turn away from everyone else and discreetly adjust his trousers. That's the downside to tighter jeans, he thinks.

 _30min love see you soon!! .xx_ Harry sends to him, and George is probably crazy, but there seems to be an air of smugness in between the pixels of his words on George's phone, like he knows exactly what the effect of them has been.

George gives Ella's waist a little squeeze. "I'm gonna go put together my overnight bag. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you'd better," Ella huffs, but she's smiling. "You've got rehearsal, and hugging-Ella time, and you're cutting in on both of them."

George grins and nips the end of Ella's nose playfully. "I'll think of you fondly tonight."

Ella makes a face. "Please don't."

He winces a little and nods. "Yeah, you're right, maybe I won't," he agrees. "I'll think of you fondly always?"

"Yes, that sounds better," Ella decides. She kisses George's cheek. "Be safe."

"I will. Promise." George kisses her cheek in return, and then slips off to pack a few essentials into a bag.

With thirty minutes to spare, George decides to shower -- get really scrubbed and clean and wash all the grime of the Eurostar off his skin before Harry and Louis are (hopefully) licking it.

It'll be really nice to be licked again. It's been ages, it feels like. It always feels like ages, though, when he's not near them, being touched by them. He just wishes he really could live in a cage in their room and they could keep him forever.

George tips his face up into the spray of the water, and then there's a gust of cold air as the shower door slides open.

He's not ashamed to admit it: he shrieks a little. None of the other boys would do anything like that and Ella definitely wouldn't, and maybe Rylan would for a laugh but George really doesn't want Rylan to watch him showering, either.

"Shhh," strong arms wrap around George's chest. He splutters and chokes on water a little as he looks down: litters of black tattoos. Harry.

It's like he automatically relaxes, the tension draining out of him and swirling down along with the water. "Hi," he sighs happily, leaning his head back.

"Hello." Harry sounds amused. "You sounded like a guinea pig."

"I thought some weirdo was trying to join me in the shower!" George protests. He pauses. "And, well, here you are."

Harry beams so brightly against the back of George's neck that he can feel teeth.

It makes him ask, hopefully, "Bite me?" because he's missed his lovebites and Harry's right here, teeth and everything, practically teasing George with it.

Harry doesn't disappoint: he latches his mouth over the back curve of George's neck just where it becomes his shoulder and it stings, just how George likes it, just where Harry could bite if he were fucking George hard from behind and George rubs back against Harry to give him ideas.

He laughs, low and soft against George's skin. "Begging for it," he says under his breath, his breath hot against the wet sting of the mark he's leaving. "I love it when you're shameless."

"I can't help it when you're all... naked and biting me!" George protests. "What am I supposed to be thinking about? The economy?"

"The state of the nation," Harry agrees, his fingers playing along George's hip bones. "Very important for a young man of your stature to be economically aware."

"I think I have like eleven pounds in one of my pairs of trousers and that's about all to my name," George says. He rubs back against Harry again. "I don't want to think about stuff, I want to do stuff with you."

Harry kisses George's neck again and rubs down his belly. "All clean? Ready to go or can't you wait that long?"

"I could, but I don't want to," George says honestly. He turns to look at Harry over his shoulder and is startled by how close their faces are -- he always thinks of Harry as being so much taller than he is, but they're really nearly the same height.

Harry kisses George's lips gently.

It's really nice, sweet and slow and not really how Harry usually kisses him. Of course, Harry usually kisses him right before they have really filthy sex. George sort of hopes this will turn into that, even if it does feel a bit weird without Louis there.

Harry doesn't seem to have the same hopes, though, because his hands just keep moving softly over George's belly and hips and over his ribs up to thumb once at his nipples. Even after George whines a little into the kiss and works his hips pleadingly, Harry doesn't wrap his fingers around George's cock.

When the kiss breaks, Harry is smiling, his hands back at George's hips and his mouth more pink than normal. He's all wet from the shower and there are droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and he looks like everything anyone could ever want in a person's face.

"Hi," George murmurs. It might not be eloquent, but he doesn't think anyone could blame him for his mind going a bit blank at the sight of wet, naked Harry Styles.

"Hi," Harry says back. He nudges his lips against George's again in something that's not really a kiss, more of a... lip-hug.

George frowns when Harry pulls away. "More kissing, please."

"Soon," promises Harry. "We need to get going before Lou gets impatient and leaves without us."

"He wouldn't," George says confidently. "Otherwise he'll be stuck just wanking."

"He's very vengeful about this sort of thing," Harry murmurs, weaving fingers through George's hair to tug his head back and get his mouth on George's neck again.

George grumble-groans and reaches behind himself to clasp his hands over Harry's hips, holding tightly.

Once Harry's made what feels like another blatantly obvious mark, he kisses George's shoulder and leans back, rocking his hips a little. "I think you should wear one of your onesies," he whispers. "Not the monkey one. Something more plain."

George frowns. "That's no fun."

"But it's a very long zipper with easy access," Harry points out.

"I should get one of the ones with bumflaps if I'm gonna spend time with you." George leans in to kiss Harry again.

"Those are not attractive," Harry informs him seriously. "Louis had one for a bit and it comes undone without warning all the time and it's not actually a pretty picture."

"It's good I have you to tell me these things," George says after frowning and trying to picture it. "Or I'd never know."

Harry smiles placidly. "It's vital knowledge."

"Very vital," agrees George. "Otherwise I might've got one without thinking about it and then where would we be?"

"Probably an awkward mooning situation in front of the paparazzi." Harry shuts off the water and hops out of the shower, shaking out his hair and spraying droplets all over the bathroom.

It's charming, and not annoying like it'd be if anyone else did it. George thinks that's mostly the magic of Harry. He does things sometimes that George would find ridiculously unattractive on other people while being really attractive. It's confusing.

Harry throws George a towel and it lands over his head. It's things like that.

George just sighs and scrubs the towel over his hair to stop it dripping down his neck. It goes all fluffy when he does that but they're sort of short on time and it's not like it matters when his hair's always ruined once he sees Harry and Louis anyway.

By the time he's done drying off, Harry's wearing jeans -- still unzipped -- and is wandering around the hotel room, barefoot and shirtless, to throw random items of George's clothes into a bag.

"Am I really going to need that much?" George asks, amused as he leans into the room. It's much colder than the bathroom and he shivers a little. "I need to be back tomorrow for rehearsal."

"You never know," Harry says. He shrugs. "I don't normally pack for myself. Zayn does it."

"You must be a joy to travel with." Still shivering, George plods across the room to dig out one of his less exciting onesies, frowning at it. "It's not even got ears. What's the point?"

"Easy access," Harry repeats. "You have your own ears."

"I could have easy access _ears_. I have two monkey onesies and it seems weird to not take advantage of that as much as possible." He smiles at Harry. "It's still really comfortable, by the way, the one you got me. Thank you."

Harry smiles fondly. "Come on, get dressed. No pants, please."

"Yay," George cheers quietly. He'd been wearing the dirty ones so long that he hasn't worn pants since, too confining and restrictive and a bit like his skin can't breathe.

Harry smirks as he watches George zip up into the plain blue onepiece.

It's comfortable, of course, because it's hard for onesies not to be, but it doesn't have ears and George is still a little bitter about that.

It's easy to get over, though, when Harry unzips the front enough to slip his hands inside and give George a little fondle.

Harry's got such big hands, and it's not the first time George has thought about how Harry could probably pick him up and hold him there with how put-together he is. He could prop George up and George could wrap his legs around Harry's waist and Harry could squeeze his bum.

George wants that. He wants a lot of things, but having Harry and Louis at all is more than enough.

"What are you smiling for?" 

George shrugs and tentatively spreads one hand out over Harry's chest, just feeling. "Just happy."

That makes _Harry_ smile, and then they're just grinning stupidly at each other for a moment.

"I'm glad," Harry finally says. "Happy you're happy."

George kisses Harry again, quick and soft even though he's rocking himself fairly insistently into Harry's hands.

"Car now," Harry whispers against his lips. "Or I'll ravish you right here, or something. Can't have that."

George pouts a little and Harry bites his lower lip where it pokes out. 

"Go!" Harry insists, and swats lightly at George's behind. "Lou's waiting."

That sort of does make George want to move faster. He's missed Louis just as much as he's missed Harry and he really wants to see him again.

Harry shoulders George's bag and then cocks his head. "Hop on up. I'll give you a ride down."

"I like riding you," George says cheekily as he jumps onto Harry's back.

"I knew that," Harry replies, and George can see the very edge of his cheek as it dimples. "Hold on tight," he instructs before he carries George out the door, managing to hold on with only the one hand to close it behind him.

They take one of the side doors out of the hotel to avoid the lobby, and the black Range Rover is idling at the side of the alley. 

"This looks like a cheap kidnapping film," George says.

"I don't think most kidnappers let you pack an overnight bag," replies Harry. "I also don't think kidnappers have 'piggyback' as their preferred method of transporting people."

"It would be a clever ruse," George agrees as Harry opens the Range Rover's back door and George clambers inside.

"Finally," grouses Louis from the driver's seat. "I've been waiting for ages. If anyone's got off without me I'll be cross."

"No, I didn't let him," Harry says. He climbs right over George's lap to the far side of the backseat and slumps down beside him.

"Hi," says George, wrapping his arms around Louis' seat from behind. He can't give him a proper hug, obviously, but he needs to touch him in some way.

"Hi, love." Louis sounds fond but distracted and gives George's forearm a little rub as he maneuvers the car onto the street.

George doesn't want to make Louis crash the car, and he's not trying to be up himself, but he was sort of hoping for a little more excitement than that. He leans back into his seat and zips his onesie up a little more.

"Hey," Harry sounds forlorn. "What was that for?"

Automatically, George moves to lower the zipper down again, looking to Harry for approval.

Harry nods. His eyes go a little dark. "More."

George bites his lip and lowers his head, keeping his eyes on Harry as he slowly unzips a bit more. He's awful at seduction, he really is.

Harry sighs. "That's lovely."

George keeps unzipping slowly until just the tip of his cock is peeking out, pink and flushed and shiny,.

"Good," Harry murmurs. "So good, George. You just sit like that."

George frowns a little. "Don't you want me to touch you? Or myself? Or something?"

Harry looks at him with contemplation, and then pats his thigh. "I want you to put your head here."

George grumbles a little, but at least a cuddle is better than nothing.

The moment his head's down, Harry's hand is in his hair. He pushes it back off George's forehead and smiles, letting the strands slip through his fingers. "It's really soft," he says quietly.

George nods. "When it's not curly, yeah."

"I like it better like this," decides Harry. "You should have it like this more often. It's so soft."

"I've tried to tell them." George yawns and nuzzles against Harry's leg. He really, very much wants to get his hand in his pants. Or where he'd be wearing pants if Harry had let him, which seems a horrible tease now that no one is doing anything about how hard he is.

"They never listen. You say you know how to do your own hair but apparently not," Harry grumbles. "It's ridiculous." He strokes his knuckles down George's face.

George turns his head enough to kiss the tip of Harry's thumb, then quickly lick it a little, sucking it between his lips.

"Cheeky boy," whispers Harry, but he doesn't pull away, which George is grateful for. Harry even presses on George's lower lip a little.

George tries to give his very best, sucking down on Harry's thumb like it's something better, just to try to provoke _some_ reaction from him. Or Louis. Either of them.

All Harry does is smile at him, though, and use the rest of his fingers to touch George's neck. His fingers are so _long_. Why won't he put them on George?

He finally stops sucking, frowning up at Harry. "Why don't you want to touch me? Have I done something?" he adds with a flash of fear. He can't think of anything he's done wrong.

Except the madeleines. He shouldn't have had three; that was too many, anyway. Selfish, really.

"Of course you haven't done anything wrong," Harry soothes, but he still doesn't have more than a hand on George.

"Then why?" asks George. "I missed you."

"We're just waiting until we can both have you," Harry murmurs. He keeps scratching at George's hair. "Fairer, right?"

"I guess," George hedges. Harry's hand in his hair does feel nice, but he's so _hard_. "You've both had me without the other there before, though."

"That isn't what Louis wants tonight," Harry says gently, and that settles things. If Louis doesn't want it, it won't happen.

"Okay," accepts George. Whatever Louis wants is what he wants. "Okay, that's fine."

Harry pushes his thumb down against George's tongue for a moment. "Don't worry, darling. We'll take care of you."

"You always do." George smiles, his words mumbled around Harry's thumb. "Can I still have this, though?"

Harry carefully moves a lock of hair out of George's eye. "Of course."

George hums and gratefully sucks down on Harry's thumb again, letting his eyes close. Sometimes it's just enough to have something in his mouth, even if it's his own fingers or one of the dangly strings that tightens the hood on a jacket. He likes having things to suck on. It makes him feel good.

Harry's hand is gentle in his hair, too, and it's sort of nice just to sit with them. It's quiet, but it's nice, like they don't need to rush for once.

He feels relaxed. Being around Harry and Louis always relaxes him, but usually it's best when he's just had an orgasm. This is just nice and relaxing on its own. Maybe they're onto something here.

When the car pulls up in the drive, Harry slides his finger out of George's mouth and lets George kiss the end of it before reaching down to zip up the front of his onepiece. He isn't hard anymore, but he figures he will be soon enough. When Louis wants.

If Louis wants that.

Louis seems to be more silent than he normally is by far as he slips out of the driver's seat. He's sort of red, too, and that's weird considering Harry and George didn't even do anything in the backseat.

Harry steps away from George's side to slide his hand over the back of Louis' flushed neck as they walk up to the house and let themselves in the door. George follows them, dragging his overnight bag on the ground.

He feels a bit out-of-sorts again, now that Harry's not touching him at all. Nobody's touching him at all. It's really not what he's used to, especially around Harry and Louis.

When he gets in the door, though, and turns around after shutting and locking it, Louis is bent over the arm of the sofa and Harry is murmuring soothingly as he eases an _enormous_ blue plug out of Louis' bum.

Stupidly, the only thing that makes it out of his mouth is a loud, "When did you get that?"

"Ages ago." Louis sounds strained. "And you also took bloody ages coming down from your hotel room."

George would apologize, but Louis moans loudly and seems to sort of crumple against the couch, his arms unable to hold him up anymore.

Harry kisses Louis' back and then the entire thing is out of him; George remembers how difficult it was just with his tiny black plug at the James Bond premiere and he feels _awful_ suddenly for keeping Louis waiting, alone, down in the Rover with that monster in him and no way to know when Harry and George were coming down.

He didn't have any way of knowing but he still feels terrible, like the worst sort of person caring more about himself than anything else. "I'm sorry," he says, but it comes out too softly for him to even hear himself. "I'm sorry," he repeats louder.

"It's alright, love," Louis murmurs. His eyes are closed, though, and he looks tired.

"No, it isn't." George feels distinctly cold, now, and zips up as high as he can. "I should've -- shouldn't have kept you waiting. I'm sorry."

"I wanted to wait a bit," Louis promises. "Stretch out for you so you can fuck me as hard you like."

George really, really thinks he doesn't deserve to do that. Not when Louis' been so patient waiting for George, when George _kept him waiting_ with that thing inside him. He remembers his little one, and it _hurts_ after you've been sitting for a while.

"I don't -- yellow?" He guesses. "I'm sorry, I'm _really_ sorry, I just -- "

"You didn't know." Louis' eyes are open now, as blue as George remembers and narrowed a little. "Come here, my legs aren't working yet."

George slips his shoes off and pads over in his bare feet, the onepiece scrunched up a little over his calves.

Louis has slid onto his back on the sofa and he opens his arms, beckoning George forward. "Come on, give us a cuddle. Haven't seen you in ages, you know," he says quietly.

George kneels down near Louis' side and puts his arms over Louis' middle before resting his head on his chest.

"There's my gorgeous boy," Louis murmurs, his hand coming up to rub gently at George's back. "You're alright, aren't you? You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry if I snapped at you."

"I just feel badly," George mutters. "You must have been hurting something awful."

"I was alright." Louis kisses George's head. "Fine now, aren't I? I'm used to it more than you are; I can take a bit more. Just got sort of fuzzy round the edges toward the end."

"I'm sorry," George whispers. He kisses Louis' chest, then has a frozen moment of wondering whether that was allowed.

"I'll accept your apology even if it isn't necessary," Louis says back to him, his hand still rubbing circles on George's back. "We've missed you something terrible. Wanted to give you a little present."

George has to admit that Louis is very _pretty_ all pliant and open like this, already stretched pink and shiny like he's gotten fucked and his heart racing a little under George's cheek.

"I don't know if I deserve it," he says doubtfully, nudging his nose against Louis' skin. "I kept you waiting."

"Do I deserve it?" Louis asks, and his hand cups around George's jaw not-quite-roughly.

"Yes," says George. He doesn't even have to think about it. "You're -- you've waited so long, and it's my fault."

Louis lifts George's chin and looks him straight in the eye. "So give it to me. Unless your color is still yellow?"

"You want me to?" George asks. If Louis wants him then he's green, but if Louis doesn't think he deserves it, then it's a different answer entirely.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"I want to, then. I'm, I'm green? Green," George says firmly. "You deserve it. I want to give you what you deserve."

"Good. Then get hard again, love, and screw me so I feel it next week."

George kisses Louis' chest again and then pulls away. He's still probably not very good at this, even though he did practice, when he had the time, in Paris. He takes a deep breath and sets his hands on his thighs, concentrating.

Louis' hand comes up and unzips George all the way down so Louis can watch his progress, and that only makes George try that much harder (no puns intended; he isn't Harry, after all).

It takes him a few moments to remind himself that Louis isn't upset with him and he's alright before he begins to thicken, trying to focus only on that instead.

"That's it," Louis murmurs softly. There's a quiet sound in the background like Harry is moving around the room tidying things up. "I've wanted you for days, love. I can't wait for you to be in me."

George moans, quiet and hopeful. He's missed fucking Louis. He loves it when Louis fucks him, and when Harry fucks him, but he really really loves being inside Louis and being able to touch him.

"There you go." Louis sounds a little breathless. "D'you want me to help you out a bit? Give you a little touch?"

" _Please_?" George aches, and he's really trying, he knows he is, but he's missed Louis touching him so much and he wants as much of it as he can have.

Louis' hand is small but firm and he gives George a little squeeze before jerking him smoothly, thumb stretching down at the base to roll lightly over his balls.

George nearly falls out of his skin. Louis' grip is perfect and his hand is perfect and George's hips jerk something horrible before he can get himself under control again.  
"Shhh," Louis whispers. "I've got you."

A whine slips past George's lips, more desperate than he'd like to sound. He wants everything Louis can give him.

He's definitely hard now, too, and if Louis doesn't take his hand away soon, then they'll have to start all over. He isn't going to ask him to stop, though -- not when it feels so incredible just to be back with them at all.

"How was your trip back?" whispers Louis, soft and a bit ripply like he's trying not to laugh.

"Nnugh?" George guesses.

"That's good, that's really good." Louis is going ridiculously slow now, and his fist is curled just the wrong side of too loose. "Did you enjoy France?"

George just sort of gurgles a high-pitched squeak at that, and then he can't even help it. He starts giggling madly.

Louis does stop then, and he wraps his arms around George in an affectionate squeeze. "You're so cute," he mumbles. "I want you to fuck me."

George has to swallow air to stop giggling, but he nods and nods. "Okay. I can, I can do that."

"Not here, though," Louis adds. "Unless I get over the arm again." Here he falls silent and looks very thoughtful.

"Harry," Louis finally says, still clearly deep in contemplation. "I can't remember, which carpet gave me rugburn? Was it the one in here or the one in the guest room?"

"The guest room," Harry says. "The rug in here is alright."

"In here, then," says Louis decisively. "I can't do it on the sofa but I don't want to move up those stairs to get to your room. You'll just have to fuck me on the floor, love." Louis thumbs at George's lower lip.

George nods again. "Okay." He shucks out of the onepiece and stands naked as a bird in the middle of Harry's living room.

It seems to please Louis, who strokes a hand over George's side before he rolls off of the sofa. It's not very high but the thud still makes George cringe.

Louis just grins at him, though, and settles himself on all fours, his forearms and knees braced on the floor and his pert bum in the air.

God, George has missed looking at him. He allows himself a moment to take it in, the way Louis is presenting himself to George like a reward, his skin all-over smooth and golden and he's stretched open and ready for George.

Harry reaches around George's hip and smooths a lube-slicked hand over George's cock in three sharp tugs.

It's too quickly for George to do much but quiver, which he does, and he pats Harry's arm in thanks.

"Come on, George," Louis urges. "Don't keep me waiting again."

 _Right_ , George thinks, determined. He won't. He kneels down behind Louis and slides two fingers in to make sure he's not going to hurt him (he isn't) and then positions himself correctly. He has one hand on Louis' hip and the other guiding his hard-on inside.

"God, yes," Louis hisses, rocking back and taking all the rest of George in one heavy slide. George chokes a little on air and his fingers tighten on Louis' hipbones.

For how stretched Louis is, he's still not _loose_ , he never is. He's as tight as ever, squeezing insistently around George's cock.

George feels a little shivery as he steadies himself and pulls out a few inches before thrusting back in, slow and smooth, and Louis whines _faster_ so George listens.

He tries his best to keep his rhythm smooth, but it stutters a little at some points when Louis makes a particularly nice noise, or shifts back against him, or breathes in a really good way.

Louis is soft and quiet like this, murmuring instructions more than rewarding George with moans or praise, and he wants -- he _wants_ \-- to please Louis, he wants to overwhelm him until he can't _help_ but to groan out loud. So listens, he follows what Louis asks for. George doesn't feel fuzzy at all; he isn't in the floaty place. But they're fucking, and it's _good_ , and he wants it to be good for Louis, too.

When Louis tells him that he wants it even harder, George's hips snap forward so hard it almost hurts _him_ , but Louis just seems pleased, finally getting a little louder when George does it again and again.

Harry's hands slide over George's back, then, and linger a moment at his waist to feel the force of George's muscles flexing as he fucks into Louis.

“So good," Harry whispers to him. "You look so good like this. I've missed seeing you like this."

George moans a little at the softness of Harry's voice. One of Harry's hands caresses down over the curve of George's arse and then his fingers are teasing at the cleft there, silently urging George to open his own legs wider.

To do that he has to adjust his position, and stop moving, which Louis is vocally displeased with. His grumble trails off into a sweet moan once George is settled again and shoves his hips forward.

Harry keeps one hand low on George's back to bend him forward over Louis a little, and George wraps one arm around Louis' belly to keep his rhythm tight.

" _Yes_ ," groans Louis, his head dropping a little. "Yeah, perfect, like that."

George smiles, his fringe drooping into his eyes, and he impatiently flicks it back. He slides a hand up the curve of Louis' spine, curving so beautifully underneath him, and he's struck by how much _trust_ there is implied in this position. He's only seen Harry fuck Louis like this once, and he thinks that must be because it's so much to see Louis like this and feel this much for him all at once.

George lets his head bend forward and he smudges kisses up the length of Louis' spine, lips nuzzling at each knob.

Louis laughs, it sounds like, quiet, just for George. He sounds as overwhelmed as George feels.

"D'you want me to touch you?" George asks into Louis' skin.

"Not yet," Louis murmurs back. "I want it to last."

George hums softly, his fingers stroking paths up Louis' ribs instead. He's so solid, even when George can feel all his bones. Louis always feels so firm, so put-together when George touches him.

Then George moans softly as Harry's lips latch onto the mark he'd made at the back of George's neck earlier and he sucks, just gently, tongue laving lightly to soothe.

Harry's fingers are still touching him, not pushing, just rubbing lightly, thoughtfully at George's tailbone. "I want to fuck you," Harry whispers to him, one finger trailing down to tease, dry against George's hole. "While you're still inside him. I want you to feel both of us."

It's everything George ever feels anyway. Both of them. It's distracting how much they're in his head all the time, and it's all the more overwhelming because it's always HarryAndLouis or LouisAndHarry, never just one of them.

He wants to really feel it, too; wants both of them.

"Yes, please," he whispers. It'll be good practice, he thinks, for taking them both at once the other way, which scares and excites him in equal measures. But he wants it. He wants everything they can give him and probably some things they can't.

Harry kisses the back of George's neck and it makes him shiver. "Thank you."

He doesn't know why Harry's thanking him, when George is the one getting everything he wants, but he murmurs a _you're welcome_ anyway.

Slick now and a little cold, Harry's fingers return between George's thighs and George bends over Louis just that much more, careful not to shove in too deep or let his rhythm stutter even though all he wants is to grind back onto Harry's hand.

"Being so good," Louis says, his voice a little muffled, and when George looks, he's biting his arm, like George is that good inside him, and George wonders what it feels like to explode with _feeling_ too much.

Harry's breath is in George's ear as he works a finger inside him, and it's already enough that George has to think about things like Captain Kirk and orcs and Dobby for a minute not to just _come_.

Even just Harry's fingers is a _lot_ when Louis is so tight and still making muffled sounds every time George rocks into him. It's like he never gets a reprieve; whenever he's not inside of Louis, Harry's fingers are inside _him_ , and it skirts on the edge of too much that he loves.

"C'mon, Georgie," Harry murmurs, and a second finger slides into George, scissoring right away. "Don't think so much."

That sounds like a good idea. A very good idea. George wants to float; it's been so long since he's gotten to. He lets himself drift a little, not _too_ much, because he doesn't think it's time yet, but he can feel the gold clouds edging in at the sides of his mind and he wants to laugh, so he does.

Harry bites the back of George's shoulder. "Am I doing something funny?"

"No," George whispers, hiccuping back another laugh. "S'just -- like before, just happy. M'just really happy."

Harry pushes a third finger into George with a little twist and George's fingernails dig into the pad of Louis' hip. "Good. Let me make you happy, Georgie. Let me take care of you."

"Yes," George agrees, edging closer to the floating place. "Yes, please, I l -- I want, please?"

Harry curves his fingers just right and George whimpers a bit. He bites at Louis' shoulder blade and Louis murmurs, "Don't come yet, George."

Right, he can't. He can't. Not allowed. George is a good boy and he won't.

“That's it, George," Harry praises. "You're so good." A fourth finger. "Almost ready, aren't you?"

"I want you." George rocks his hips back against Harry's fingers and then a little harder into Louis, as an apology. "Please, now?"

"I don't want to hurt you again." Harry sounds a little unsure and apologetic, and he drizzles kisses over the curve between George's shoulders.

"I'm ready, promise." George carefully presses back on Harry's fingers again, and there's a bit of a burn but he's four fingers deep and George wants Harry's cock _now_. "Please? You'll feel so good."

"Alright, sweetheart," Harry murmurs, and it's the first time he's called George that and he _loves_ it. "Keep on for Louis; that's a good boy."

George keeps as steady as he can, and he has to slow down a little but Louis gives him a little pleased smile over his shoulder and it makes George feel like he could fly.

The blunt head of Harry's cock nudges up against George and he has to bend forward over Louis, getting in deeper, so Harry can get the angle he needs to slide up into George without hurting.

There's a dangling moment and then Harry slides home, and it makes George push deep into Louis, and it's so much so much _so much too much_ that George _snaps_ into his clouds, like he's never left them.

He lets out a broken moan and has to pause with his cheek against the flat of Louis' warm back.

"Color?" Harry asks, and he's solid against George, not moving except for the tiniest twitches of his hips like he can't help it.

"Green," George says immediately. "So good, thank you, thank you, thank you."

"So good, our good boy, the best boy, George," Harry whispers, kissing George's neck quickly and unevenly. "You're so so good for us."

Harry shifts, and it makes George shift. Harry thrusts and it pushes George's hips forward.

Louis groans, loud and unashamed, and his shoulders drop down. He's getting the length of George and twice the pressure, and George can't even imagine. "Perfect," pants Louis. "Perfect, George."

George doesn't even know how to handle this or how to respond to it. He feels hot all over and his fingers are shaking where they rest on Louis' brown skin and Harry is still mouthing kisses over the back of George's head and neck and the kiss-bruised tops of his shoulders.

He wants to just stay right here forever, because it's the most wanted he's ever felt. He feels like he could stay in his floating place forever like this, between them, fucking and being fucked, and it would be the most perfect thing.

"You're so good," Harry murmurs. He runs one hand over George's chest and belly before keeping it pressed lightly over George's sternum to measure his heartbeat -- probably smart since George has a habit of blacking out when he comes hard enough between them. "Touch Louis now, sweetheart."

It feels just as good, Harry's pet name, as it did the first time, makes emotion spring up in George's chest and all he can do is listen to Harry and slide his hand across Louis' hip to wrap around his cock.

Louis mutters _oh, yes_ and his head drops forward like he can't possibly hold it up anymore.

It makes George feel powerful, not like he wants to take control or anything but like he's more in control of himself than he's ever been. He's still floating and it feels so, so good, but everything seems so much clearer than it's been in forever.

Even lost in the soft white clouds, George can feel it tapping up against his teeth, the words. And he has enough of himself left not to say them.

Instead, he grits his teeth and gives Louis a firm stroke, base to tip and then back down, focusing on making him feel good.

"That's it," Harry murmurs in George's ear. "You're so good for him, aren't you? Just want to make Louis happy."

"Yes, so happy," agrees George. He twists his wrist a little and palms over the head of Louis' dick in a practiced motion.

It isn't very often that Louis seems, to George, like he's as little a person as he really is (not everywhere; George's thumb and fingertips only just overlap around Louis' firm cock), but he's trembling and his thighs seem shaky and George just thinks Louis seems... more _human_ in this position.

He likes it. He likes everything about Louis, from the way he talks with his eyebrows to the way he fucks to the way he touches George; everything about Louis feels new and exciting even if it's not and it shouldn't be.

He lets his forehead drop to rest on Louis' back.

"Make me come, George," Louis says, his voice low and firm. "Make me come and then you can let Harry make you come."

George nods and Louis' skin peppers with goosebumps under him. He works his hand on Louis just the way he likes it himself, rough and fast.

Louis moans quietly. He's never _loud_ during sex, but it doesn't make George think he's not doing it right because Louis tells him he's doing well in the tightening of his thighs and the movement of his hips.

"That's a good boy, Georgie," Harry assures him. "Louis likes that so much, likes your hands on him."

George mouths against the skin between Louis' shoulder blades, golden-warm and smooth, perfect for kissing. He keeps moving his hand, now slick with precome, as he fucks into Louis in the same rhythm.

Harry's hands run over George's back, up and down like he isn't sure what to do with himself just to hold on, and George feels like he's shivering between too-too hot and cold and it's all too _good_ and he _really_ wants to come, can feel it right on the edge tightening his belly, but Louis hasn't yet and he can't, he can't until Louis comes first.

He can hold out, because he's good, and he can do what Louis wants. George has to take a few deep breathes, though, uneven and ragged, to try and quell the rising heat inside him.

Soft mouthing on his shoulder, just over the lovebite so dark it smarts a bit. "You're so good, George, trying so hard."

He _is_ trying hard, he's trying so hard for Harry and Louis because he wants to be his best for them. He shoves deep into Louis with a grunt and rubs his thumb over the head of Louis' cock, and finally he's rewarded with a quiet _ohh_ as Louis spills over into his hand.

" _Yes_ ," George whispers, sliding his hand gently to ease Louis through it, almost marvelling at the feeling of Louis' come on his hand because it's _Louis_ and making him feel good feels so good.

"So good, you've done so well, George," says Harry, his hand sliding low on George's stomach. "Just stay there for me, love."

Louis is still slumped on his knees in front of George, his head rested between his forearms, but George can't pull out of him while he's staying still for Harry and Louis doesn't make any strides to move away himself.

"Good lad." Harry kisses George's shoulder and his hands slide to George's hips, holding him steady as Harry builds up a pace that George can't handle for very long.

Even though he isn't fucking into Louis, he's still warm and tight and slick from lube and George starts whimpering, his clean hand digging into Louis side and he can't help it -- he licks up Louis come from the fingers of his other hand, sucking at his fingers and licking at the drop on his wrist.

Harry makes a noise that doesn't even sound human, a cross between a groan and a yelp. "God -- fuck -- _fuck_ ," he curses, slamming into George and grasping his hips so tightly it hurts.

That warm wetness isn't something George thinks is very easy to get used to, and certainly not when he has to wait so long in between. He's still inside Louis and now Harry's inside _him_ deep and hot and George can feel his come inside and he's there. George gasps and then comes, floating just a little bit higher but determined to stay conscious if nothing else.

Harry's hair is soft and tickling where he's resting his head against the side of George's neck.

"Everybody still alive?" Louis finally cracks, his head turning a little to attempt to see George. "Georgie? Color, George."

George nods. "Green. Really good this time, yeah. I promise."

Louis seems to let out a relieved sigh. "Terrifying when you don't respond," he mutters, rolling his shoulders a little. "Mmmm. That was nice. Thank you, love."

George shudders a little, his head lolling happily. Louis was thanking _him_. Should always be the other way around. Louis' so nice.

"Thank _you_ ," he says back. The notion of Louis thanking him when Louis is the one who gives George what he needs is ridiculous.

Harry eases himself out of George and then holds George's hips firmly as he helps George pull back out of Louis, gathering George up close to his chest right away.

He's so big, solid and broad behind George and George relaces against Harry happily. He feels a bit weak in the limbs but otherwise fantastically sated.

Harry's lips are so gentle when he kisses George's mouth then, and George had forgotten just how otherworldly it could be to be kissed while he was under, or while he was floating, flying.

It's like he's on a whole other planet and being kissed, like he can't breathe but he also can't do anything _but_ breathe. George tries to tell Harry how amazing it is but all he can manage is a happy little murmur.

Harry smiles at him and their noses nudge together sweetly. "You're so pretty, George. I like looking at you, basically."

"You can look at me as much as you want," George whispers with a grin. He feels like he's moving at half-speed. "Forever."

Harry laughs at that and it feels like it's surrounding George. He wants to live in it.

Louis rolls onto his back and looks up at them, and he's smiling, too. "I've got the loveliest boys," he says quietly. "The very best."

Preening and going a little pink, George holds his hands out greedily for Louis to cuddle into them, too, so he can be wrapped up by them both, totally covered in HarryAndLouis.

"You did so well for us," Louis tells him, pressing kisses into George's neck, and up into his hair. "Perfect, George, just perfect."

George's face breaks into a beaming grin and he latches his teeth lightly onto Louis' collarbone.

He can feel the vibrations as Louis laughs, his fingers tracing little patterns on George's skin. "Would you like to leave a mark on me?" Louis asks him softly. "Something to remember you by, until Saturday?"

 _Oh_ , George does. He nods and nods and Louis' fingers are delicate as he cups the back of George's head in his hand and leads him to a spot on his neck to bite.

"So you can see it," Louis whispers.

A thrill goes up George's spine and he feels so happy he wonders if he might be dreaming. Louis feels real, though, and Harry behind him, and nothing fades to black when he sets the edge of his teeth to Louis' skin.

Harry's hands slide over George's body, around his hips and up his belly to his chest, thumbing lightly at George's nipples.

He doesn't think he'll get hard again but it does feel nice, and George hums against Louis' neck, licking out against the mark he's making. He wants it to be a good one, one he'll be proud of.

Louis squeaks a bit and laughs and George can feel his voice buzzing up against George's teeth. "He's quite a biter, Harry. You have competition."

That makes George frown a little, brings him down which he doesn't like. "Not competition," he chides, kissing Louis' neck and fumbling a hand behind him to touch Harry.

"Not competition," Harry agrees gently. "You're his George and I'm his Harry. It's different, isn't it? We l -- we like our George."

"Good." George smiles. He _feels_ good. He feels great. "Your George."

Louis leans in and nuzzles at George's jaw. "Our best darling George."

George wants to curl up in this feeling and never let go of it. He can't recall feeling so connected with people before, not like this, not in a way that really matters.

"All yours," George mumbles. "Not my own George, just yours."

Louis doesn't say anything back at first, just continues gently nosing at George's neck. "We should get you into a proper bed," he whispers after a moment. "Have a nice cuddle, that sounds nice, doesn't it?"

George nods and preens again, just happy little noises. It does sound nice; everything Louis says sounds nice right now. Anything Louis wanted to do would be nice.

“Do you want to get clean first?" Louis tickles underneath George's armpit. "Clean and then cuddles or are you alright?"

"Harry washed me earlier," George muses. "I don't know. You choose."

"I think I want to keep you in me a bit longer." Louis pecks George on the highest point of his cheekbone. "And I want Harry in you a bit longer as well. We can wash in the morning."

George nods happily. That sounds perfect. Good, good, good.

"Can you stand yet, love?" asks Louis in a gentle voice. "Am I going to have to get Harry to throw you over his shoulder again?"

George giggles and ducks his head. "I can stand I think."

"Good boy," Louis says. He kisses George's head and then gets to his feet, wobbling a little. "I can still feel you," he says to George with a smile. "You fucked me so good, babe, I'm so proud of you."

George giggles again, then stops and tries to say words, and has to stop again because he's giggling too much. His eyes shine as he stares up happily at Louis before shuffling over on his knees to kiss Louis' hipbone.

Louis pets George's hair. "You're sweet, Georgie."

"Yours," mumbles George in return. He wraps his arms around Louis' thighs and giggles again, pressing them into Louis' skin. He can't help it when he's so happy.

Louis' fingers are gentle as bird wings as he combs them through George's damp hair.

“You need to stand up so we can go up the stairs, darling." He touches the back of George's neck. "Remember Harry's bed? Have you missed it?"

George beams and bites Louis' thigh a bit. "Yes. I like sleeping in Harry's bed."

"Good, because we like having you there, monkey-boy." Louis bends to help George up with a grip underneath his armpits. He pulls George into a quick hug and then leans away to give him another kiss on his head.

They all get settled into Harry's huge bed and George cuddles up with his head right on Louis' chest, tucked under his arm, with Harry pressed along the length of his back. He dozes in and out, happy and floaty and sleepy.

At one point, he wakes up when Louis and Harry are whispering over his head and he catches his own name.

"... for George. You've got to, you know you have."

"Mm?" George mumbles, tipping his head up a little. Harry sounds upset and George doesn't want him to be, ever. "Wha'sappening?"

He blinks through the dark at Harry's face: his brows are drawn together and his plush mouth looks pinched.

"Shh, baby," Louis whispers, and that must be his hand rubbing George's back. "It's late and you've got to get rest for tomorrow. Go back to sleep."

George smiles because Louis is right, of course he is. He rests his head back down over Louis' chest and closes his eyes again to try and sleep.

He can hear Harry's deep voice saying something else but it's fuzzy, and he's so comfortable, and he thinks Louis just kissed his hair.

In the morning, George wakes up after Harry, still the early riser, and he pads after him downstairs to the kitchen so Louis can sleep awhile longer.

"What d'you want for breakfast?" Harry asks him, his hair all a mess and with crumbs down his front from the toast he's munching on.

George licks his lips and looks meaningfully at Harry's body.

"Cheeky boy." Harry looks pleased. "Real food first, though. We've got toast and about eight different kinds of jam. I'm not sure why."

George sighs. "But I don't want toast. I can have that anytime. I can't have you anytime."

"You can have me while you have toast," Harry suggests. "Multitask or whatever."

George frowns. He rubs his eyes, too, because Harry might be awake at nearly seven in the morning but it _is_ still awfully early. "But I'd be _chewing_ you."

Harry sort of blanches at that. "Well, I don't know that I trust you anywhere near my dick, now." He puts more bread down into the toaster, licking jam from his thumb. "How about, you have toast, then me, then I take you home?"

George shrugs. "That's better, I guess. I don't want to leave. I'm tired."

"I know you are," says Harry sympathetically. "I was always tired when we were on. Never really get a break, do you?"

George shakes his head ruefully. "No, and I don't get enough good cuddles, either. You and Louis give the best cuddles."

Harry opens his arms in invitation, and George grins, snuggling close. 

"You know you can cuddle other people, though, right?" Harry murmurs in his ear. "I know it's a bit hard for someone like you, not touching people. And you're, basically, you're ours, and we know that, and so do you. So if you need to have a bit of a snuggle with like, Ella or Rylan, or Jaymi, that's okay."

George shakes his head. "Not the same. They try but it's different." He pauses. "Not Rylan. I think he'd get too fresh with me, so I don't cuddle with him."

"Not with him, then," Harry agrees. "I know it's not the same. Just like it's not the same if I have a kip with Zayn, or whoever. But it's something. If you need it."

George shakes his head and pushes closer to Harry. He knows a test when he hears it, he thinks, and he doesn't want Louis to be angry.

Above his head, Harry sighs, and presses his cheek against George's hair, but he doesn't say anything else on the subject.

Harry fixes George toast with orange marmalade and watches him eat it, but holds George's hand across the table and draws his thumb in slight circles over the tops of George's knuckles.

It tastes nice, citrus-y and it actually settles George's stomach a little. He sucks the crumbs from his fingers and it makes Harry smile at him, so George smiles back.

"Can I have a kiss?" Harry asks, leaning forward.

George's stomach swoops a little, but in a good way. He's smiling when he presses his lips against Harry's, and he only stops because that makes it a bit awkward to kiss someone.

Harry's hand curves gently along the side of George's neck, holding him into the kiss, and it's sweet and light, too, not wanting or urgent. It doesn't quite feel like kissing Harry, since it isn't, but it _is_ him all the same, the same lips and same soft sighs.

Altogether, it's a very nice kiss, and George feels light and a little giddy when it's done with. He likes kisses that are like that, that don't necessarily feel like they're leading anywhere. He likes the others, too, of course, _always_ , but these are pleasant all the same.

Harry's thumb taps at one of George's dimples. "You and your giggles."

"Can't help it when I'm happy. They just come out." George kisses Harry's wrist quickly. "And you make me happy."

"You make me happy, too. And Louis." He pauses. "Are you happy the rest of the time?"

George's brow furrows a little. He's not sure he understands what Harry's asking. "I'm... happy?" he tries. "I've got you, and Louis."

Harry nods slowly. "But you're happy with other things, too, right? Like singing and -- stuff, I don't know."

"I love singing. I love being on the show." George smiles at him. "I like being in a band, and being in London."

"Good," Harry says. He taps at George's dimple again. "I like when you're happy."

"I like when I'm happy, too." George nuzzles against Harry's hand. "Happiest with you," he adds.

Harry scratches at George's hair. "I know."

He sounds sad, though, and George doesn't like that at all, so he eases down from his chair and beneath the table so he can mouth lightly at Harry's cock through his cotton pants.

Harry spreads his legs a little wider, and his hand in George's hair tightens, not enough to really hurt but enough that George can feel it. "Not too much," he warns. "Not when you have rehearsal."

George nods and immediately conks the top of his head on the table. "Ow!" 

He giggles and tries to muffle it into the inside of Harry's thigh.

The muscles in Harry's legs are flexing a little as he tries not to laugh, his hand rubbing over the sore spot on George's head. "Silly boy," he whispers. "Come here, I want to kiss it better."

George whines a little, but snakes out from beneath the table so Harry can cup his jaw in his hands and kiss the top of George's head lightly.

"There's a good boy," murmurs Harry, stroking his thumbs over the apples of George's cheeks. "Here, we can go in the sitting room. Your knees'll go in here after a bit."

George sighs and gives the bulge at the front of Harry's pants an impatient, wanting little fondle, but he stands anyway and follows Harry into the living room.

Harry kisses his lips again before he settles onto the sofa, and he looks a little smaller like that, folded up in the corner.

"C'mere," he murmurs, and George follows happily.

He settles easily into Harry's lap, because it looks comfortable and Harry welcomes it. He settles his arms around George's waist and pulls him in close.

"Hey," Harry whispers. He nudges his nose against George's. "Let me get you off, Georgie."

George hums and kisses Harry again. It's amazing how easy it is, how normal. "I want to make you feel good," he says back.

“You do." Harry lifts George up and moves him like he's made of paper, settling him down so George's thin thighs are bracketing Harry's hips. "But I'm like you, remember, and making other people feel good makes me feel better, too."

"Oh." George supposes that makes sense, in a roundabout way. So making George feel good will make Harry feel good, which is what George wants. "I -- okay." He smiles.

Harry smiles and curves his hands over the top of George's bum.

They always feel so big on him, Harry's hands. They're urging him to rock forward a little so he does, pressing his hips down against Harry's.

"That's it," Harry whispers. His eyelashes flutter shut and he's so pretty, so handsome. George is mesmerized just to look at him, touch him.

He kisses Harry's jaw, and then down his neck to a fading bruise that George doesn't think is from him, so it must be from Louis. He gives it a kiss as well, because he can.

Harry's hands travel up George's back, fingertips up the indentation of his spine and his thumbs drawing small circles. He sighs softly and kisses George's shoulder.

George smiles a little and muffles it in the side of Harry's neck, grinding down onto Harry steadily.

He can feel Harry getting harder underneath him, thick even through two pairs of pants. It makes him feel proud that _he_ 's doing it, making Harry feel good, making him hard.

He worries about pleasing Louis, but pleasing Harry just makes him _happy_. Even before they'd ever met, George idolized Harry a bit, not in an active sort of way, never had posters of him or anything, but just... rooted for him and kind of wanted to be him as much as be on him.

It's different now he _knows_ Harry. Harry's still hot and he's as lovely as he comes off in interviews or on telly or whatever, but it's more than that. He's funny and kind, and he's a good cook and a terrible liar, and he makes stupid puns and he calls George sweetheart. He makes George happy. Really, really happy, even when they're not doing this.

He wraps his arms a little more snugly around Harry and murmurs a little before kissing Harry's neck, nipping little lips up and down.

"That feels nice, I like that," whispers Harry, one big hand sliding back down to press lightly at the curve of George's arse, helping his rhythm even out.

"I like _you_ ," George mumbles. His hand finds Harry's chest and rubs lightly at one of his normal nipples.

Harry gasps softly, and his hand pushes George's hips down hard. The friction is brilliant, and when Harry noses underneath George's chin to bite his neck softly, George chances a bit of a pinch to the nipple he'd been rubbing.

Harry squeaks a little and George giggles breathlessly, nosing into Harry's hair.

Harry gets a handful of George's bum then and squeezes, in retaliation. "You've got such a nice laugh," Harry tells him, under his breath, words pressed against George's skin. "I love hearing it."

"I laugh all the time." George tugs at Harry's earlobe lightly with his teeth. "Even when nothing's funny."

"Those are my favorites." Harry smiles, his arm wrapping tight around George's waist. "When you laugh just because you're too happy not to."

George smiles with wide-blown eyes and hooks his ankle around Harry's calf. "Tighter, please."

Harry flips him down so he's lying above George on the sofa, George on his back looking up at him with huge eyes and a halo of rumpled hair.

"Easier to kiss you like this," Harry says, and then he ducks down to suck on George's bottom lip, his hips rocking again in a steady motion.

George thinks he might hiss _yes_ as he tucks his thighs up around Harry's hips, ankles crossing behind Harry's back to hold him captive. He doesn't feel floaty at all -- he feels crystal clear, sharp, like every bit of Harry is in high definition.

This is more like Harry usually kisses, deep and unyielding, like he's chasing something. Everything's so much better like this, so much more contact and moving and heat between them.

George's fingertips feel electric as he draws them up the long line of Harry's spine and up into his hair, scrubbing through it to make Harry purr against his mouth.

Harry has to shift and balance on one arm to press his thumb into the brusie at the base of George's neck, but the pressure is so perfect that George thinks he might see stars, and he makes a pleading sound against Harry's lips, caught between them.

"That's it, George," Harry whispers. He bites roughly at the plush of George's lower lip. "So good."

George grinds up just as Harry grinds down and it's so good, too good for him to resist, and his eyes close as he shudders through his orgasm, soaring -- but not floating.

"God, that's pretty," Harry groans, kissing at George's cheekbones instead of his mouth so George can breath, huge lungfuls of air and the smell of Harry.

He always smells so good, spicy-soapy and perfect, and George wants to be perfect for him. He's breathing heavily but he can get a hand between them and touch down Harry's stomach, rub firmly at the length of him.

"You wanna suck it now?" Harry murmurs.

"Yes," George groans, because he _does_ , he wants to show Harry how happy he is and how much he appreciates everything Harry does for him and more than anything, he really, really wants to suck Harry's cock. It's such a lovely cock. It should always be in someone's mouth, really.

Harry rears up onto his knees and pushes his pants roughly down his thighs so that his cock bobs up in front of him. George groans a little and props himself up on his elbows so Harry can push into his mouth, already wet and salt-bitter and leaky.

"Not too much, love, your voice," Harry mutters, one of his hands in George's hair to guide him, coax him off a little. George doesn't want to be coaxed off, but he does have rehearsal today, and they do need to do well this week. Every week.

He stares up at Harry through his eyelashes while he sucks down on the head, loving the little splash of precome on his tongue as he jerks his hand over the length of Harry's pretty cock, trying so hard to make him come.

"Shit," whispers Harry, his eyes big and green, and focused entirely on George. "Can I finish on your face? Please?"

George gives the slit of Harry's prick a last lick and pulls off, nodding eagerly.

He keeps jerking him with his hand, and closes his eyes in preparation as the first spurt lands on the corner of his mouth, and he licks out to taste it, humming happily under his breath.

" _Yes_ , George, god, _love_ ," Harry grunts, his fingers tight in George's hair.

George licks over the head of Harry's cock to clean him up a little, and then swipes a knuckle beneath his eye to gather the come there and suck it off. Harry makes a breathless sort of sound like he's been punched in the chest.

George opens his eyes and glances at Harry coquettishly. He knows he's a picture, all rumpled hair and big eyes and come all over his face.

"Well, you'll definitely need to wash before we can get you back." Harry traces fingers through the mess on George's face and presses his fingers into George's mouth.

George hums and sucks at Harry's fingertips. The sun peeps into the room around the blinds on the window and catch on Harry's hair, lighting him up like a Renaissance painting, and he's beautiful and the taste of him is sweet on George's tongue and it feels intimate and warm, like George's chest might burst with it all.

For a moment, there are words -- words he wants to say, and he can feel them in his throat but they won't pass his lips. He doesn't even know if they can.

Harry strokes George's tongue lightly with his fingertips, a soft smile on his face. He presses on George's lip when he takes his fingers out and then leans down to kiss him.

"Perfect George," Harry murmurs.

He's not, and George knows he's not, but Harry sort of makes him feel it.

Harry's hand trails down to George's sticky pants and slips inside. "Let's shower, then, and you can borrow some pants if you like. Or you can wear your new trousers and go without."

"New trousers," George decides. He doesn't have to think about it very hard. It'll be a nice reminder of Harry and Louis all day.

Harry smiles and pecks at George's lips again. "Alright, sweetheart. Budge up!"

George wonders if maybe he could convince Harry to call him nothing but sweetheart ever again. Then again, the nice feeling it brings on would probably wear off if he heard it too often.

Harry hops off the sofa and gets tangled up in his pants around his knees for a moment before just shaking them off his leg. "Come on, let's go upstairs."

Right, upstairs, which is where Louis is. George likes being near Louis. He slips off his own pants because they're starting to get uncomfortable and follows Harry, laughing when he manages to hold Harry's hand nearly the whole way.

Harry squeaks a smacking kiss on the side of George's head. "Goof."

"You're one to talk!" George exclaims, landing his own kiss to the side of Harry's neck. "Have you used up any of your stupid jokes for the day yet?"

Harry tilts his head. "No, but it is early. I usually don't get witty until around nine."

"Sad I'll miss it, then," George sighs. He wishes he did a bit less missing and a bit more having.

"I'll text them to you," Harry promises.

That does make him feel a bit better. "Good," he says, squeezing Harry's hand again.

They have to rush through a shower once they realize the time, and George doesn't feel _quite_ all clean, but his hair's freshly shampooed and he doesn't smell like come, so it's as good as he can hope.

Harry kisses the top of George's head after they both shake out their hair. "D'you want more toast? Anything to bring along to eat on the way?"

"I'm alright." George rubs his stomach a little. "Still full. I might get some fruit or something before rehearsal."

"Good," Harry says. He gives George's bum a little swat on his way past him to the door. "I like fruit."

"I could tell; I think whenever I see a pap shot of you, you've got a satsuma in your hand." George rumples his hair until it feels right, frowning thoughtfully. There's so much of it.

"Harry?" he asks timidly. "Could I get my hair trimmed?"

Harry looks back at him with a little frown of his own. "I like it long," he says, giving George's head a cursory glance. "It is getting a bit out of hand, isn't it?"

George nods and it flops into his eyes, helping his case. "I don't want to change the style, I just want a trim."

"Well... Alright," Harry allows. "Not much, though. I want there to still be something I can grab on to."

George blushes at that and feels a stab of heat. "Right."

Harry's fingers curl up into his mass of hair and tighten just a little. "Yeah," he hums. "You could do with a trim. Just a bit."

George smiles at Harry and gets up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth once softly. "Thank you."

"Of course," Harry says, his voice gentling. "Come on, I'll take you back. D'you want to chance Louis' wrath for a goodbye?"

George tilts his head. "I don't much like wrath. Or gluttony. I like lust and sloth, though."

"Lust's a good one," Harry agrees. "Alright, I'll write him a note. You put your trousers on. Cupboard on the left, on the bottom right. You can't miss them."

"They aren't red, are they?"

"No, ordinary blue. Maybe blue-y black." Harry kisses George's head. "I think you'll like them."

George rummages through the cupboard and comes up with probably the smallest pair of jeans he's ever seen.

He stares, then looks toward where Harry's scribbling a note on a pad of paper. "I don't think these are going to fit," he says flatly. "I don't know if these would fit anyone."

"They're your size," Harry says absently. "They're stretchy."

"If you say so," George murmurs, doubt in his voice. He couldn't wear pants under these if he wanted to.

They take him a few minutes to fit over his feet and up his legs. 

"Harry. These are ridiculous. I look like -- a stuffed ham."

Harry looks up at him and his brow furrows. He agrees, George thinks, but Harry doesn't say that. "You look gorgeous," he says instead. "You've got amazing legs. They look fantastic. Good choice, Lou," he tosses over his shoulder. Louis just grumbles and shoves a pillow over his own head.

George feels distinctly uncomfortable. Not physically; they actually feel better than he would have expected for being so tight. But he feels -- exposed.

"Come here," Harry says to him, opening his arms.

George surges into Harry's arms and buries his face in the curve of Harry's neck and chest.

"There's a good lad," whispers Harry, his arms tight around George's back. "You look amazing. You always look amazing. And when you're out today, everyone's going to look at you, and they'll want you, but they can't have you. Because you're mine and Lou's. You're ours."

George tightens his fingers in the sides of Harry's t-shirt. His mouth twitches, but he nods.

"I wish we had time for me to get you off through them." Harry sighs, and he sounds honestly disappointed. "Eventually, I will."

George smiles a little and bites at the neck of Harry's shirt, tugging at it with his teeth. "Okay."

"I really want," Harry pauses, and tucks his nose against George's hair. "I want to keep you here all the time. I never want you to leave," he mumbles.

"That's what I want, too," George says, and his voice cracks a little. "I love being on the show, but I'm happy here."

"I'm happy with you here, too." Harry clears his throat. "We'll see you again tomorrow, yeah? We can pick you up after the show and we'll bring you back."

George nods. "Yeah, please."

"Alright, we'll do that. I'll miss you when you're not here, though." Harry sighs, and his breath is hot against George's neck. "I miss you all the time."

George shivers a little. He misses Harry and Louis all the time, that's true, but -- they have each other, and he's just George. The idea that Harry might miss him seems beyond comprehension.

Harry is a terrible liar, though. It's one of the things George likes about him. 

"I miss you, too," he whispers. It's barely audible, but he knows Harry hears it.

Harry squeezes George once, with a hand in the back pocket of George's ridiculously tight jeans, before pulling away to lead him to the car for a ride back to the Corinthia.

He holds George's hand on the gearshift the whole way and George tries not to smile as widely as he wants to but it's hard when everything feels so nice.

He has to get out of the car without giving Harry any more kisses, just in case someone can see through the windows, and it makes him a bit grumpy after he waves and goes inside. Ella jumps on him and starts chattering nearly the second he's in the lobby, though, so he doesn't have much time to be upset about it.

Doesn't have much time to do anything, really, before they're being collected and herded off to a car to get to the studio for rehearsals. George almost forgets about the trousers he's wearing until Jaymi looks at him a bit curiously in the car. When George frowns back at him in question, Jaymi just glances down to George's jeans and then back up.

George prickles a little and shrugs. "They're in fashion. I am considered a teen heartthrob in all the magazines, you know. Love triangle with Josh there and everything."

Jaymi's mouth quirks down at the side. "I like them. No need to be so defensive. I've just not seen them before."

"They're new." George tries to cross his legs at the knee and can't quite: the material doesn't have enough give around his bits.

"Okay. They look good." Jaymi shrugs and settles back into his seat. He looks a bit nervous, biting the tip of his thumb, but he lets it go, and George is too relieved to wonder why.

"Don't give the style team any ideas, though, eh, George?" Josh claps his hand over George's thigh. "I don't think I can fit into jeans that small. Need my breathing room."

"Wait, why would trousers affect your lungs?" JJ asks.

Josh gives JJ a sort of blank look and then says, slowly, "They don't, Jayj. Not that sort of breathing room."

JJ's eyebrows crease down to his nose.

"For the pony, JJ," Josh says gently. "For the stallion."

"God, really?" George and Jaymi both groan at once. George even covers his ears.

Josh just looks very satisfied with himself. 

George is pretty sure he'll never get used to there being _people_ when he gets to places. There are a girls scattered around near the entrance of the studio when they get there and they seem really happy to see them, even this early, when George doesn't think anyone could be happy about anything.

Except Harry. Weird morning person that he is. George has never been able to spend a whole day with Harry and Louis, but he imagines that Harry is a bit like a cat in sunshine, just sort of dozing off for small naps at odd times throughout the day before waking up to butt his head into people for petting or food.

He wishes he could know for sure. Maybe someday, he'll be able to find out, and wake up with them without having to leave within the hour. And he'll be able to make breakfast with Harry and help him wake up Louis and they can just have a day together where nobody has to go anywhere. They can -- they can watch bad night time television and eat leftover carbonara. George can't think of a way he'd be happier.

He sighs a little and goose-steps a bit because the trousers _really_ are tight and he doesn't have any pants on under them.

"Y'alright?" JJ asks, clapping George on the back.

"Yeah," George grumbles. JJ's trousers are almost always this tight. He probably wouldn't understand why George is having trouble.

They're just singing "Call Me Maybe" this week, because -- well, it'll probably be the end of them on the show. Them or Rylan, and everyone loves Rylan. He's a hoot.

There's no way for rehearsal not to go smoothly. They've done this song a million times; it's just a matter of speeding it up a little and making sure their harmonies don't go weird in the verses. And George making sure he doesn't step the wrong way in his trousers and pinch something.

They also need to coordinate their climactic box-jumping, but they've become quite adept at it, really. If they could handle jumping off that car, they can handle jumping off a box. It's much less slippery.

George isn't wearing leather this time, either, so at least his knees aren't sweaty. He's not sure he can _feel_ his knees, actually.

Once they're finished, George climbs onto Ella's back and makes her carry him down into the audience so they can watch Rylan's rehearsal together. He's quite funny, with his hundred treadmills, and George quite likes watching Nicole run him through his paces.

That's the thing, is that they're _good_ now, as a band, they're really actually good, but they've been in the bottom two twice now and the odds are on them or Rylan to go, and no matter how good they are, Rylan is _fun_. Rylan's really really fun and people like fun.

George rests his head on Ella's shoulder and chomps a little at her hair.

"Ew," Ella laughs, flicking the end of his nose. "Get off."

"I'm just being a monkey," grumbles George, but he drops off of her back anyway.

"Be a monkey by plaiting my hair, then, not chewing on it." Ella shakes her head. "You and things in your mouth. Don't!" She covers George's mouth as soon as his eyes light up, and he licks her palm.

"You're disgusting," Ella informs him, wiping her hand on his shirt, with a frown and a shake of her head.

"People don't usually complain when I lick them," George says. "Usually they find it nice."

"Well, I am not people." Ella tips her head into the air. "You keep your tongue far away from me, Mr. Shelley. I'm not one of your boyfriends."

George smiles and looks down at his hands on his lap. He thumbs at one of the beads of his collar so it spins around his wrist.

Ella lets out a sigh. "You go all gooey whenever anyone mentions them and it's hideously adorable." She leans her head on his shoulder. "Why do you get two boyfriends and I can't even get one?"

"Aww, little Ella Bear!" George kisses the top of her head. "It's because you have awful taste in men. I mean, _Dan_?"

"He was cute!" protests Ella. "And if you'd believe the papers, my awful taste in men is _you_ , so don't go mouthing off."

"Your awful taste in men is me _and Josh_." George gives her a wily grin. "And anyway, we can't all be as lucky as Jaymi when it comes to boyfriends."

Ella sighs again. "They're awfully cute together, aren't they?" she asks. "They've been together for so long. I guess you _can_ find love when you're young."

George grins at that, because Jaymi and Olly _are_ pretty perfect.

Olly's even come to London a day earlier to cheer Jaymi on during rehearsals before he steals him away for the night.

They're probably around somewhere, actually. They've finished up rehearsal for the moment so it's all just lazing around until the others are done and they can get back to the hotel.

But Jaymi is good friends with Rylan -- well, Rylan is good friends with everybody and so is Jaymi, so it was inevitable -- so they're probably here to watch Rylan struggle on the treadmills, too.

George leans up in his seat a little to try and search them out. Maybe he and Ella can go over and have a conversation or something with them; he doesn't know Olly very well and has no idea how he'll take George trying to talk to him when he's got off with Olly's boyfriend, but nothing broken gets fixed until you try, or whatever.

They're sitting at the back of the theater, both of them with their heads bent towards --

George ducks down in his seat and cups his hands around Ella's ear. "Is that Louis? My Louis?"

"I know your mentor's a sweet guy but I think calling him yours might be a bit much," Ella laughs, turning to look. Her laugh hiccups to a stop. "Oh. Er, I think it is. If it's not, it's his twin."

George's heart races in his chest. "What's he doing here?"

"How would I know? Did he not tell you he was going to be here?" Ella frowns and squints her eyes to try to get a better look. "Whatever they're talking about looks serious."

George hazily remembers Harry and Louis having another serious conversation -- something about him -- the night before. And he remembers Jaymi being angry that Louis and Harry planned to leave George for three-quarters of next year.

"No, he didn't say he'd be here," George answers after a moment of watching them. "I didn't get to talk to him this morning but you'd think he'd have mentioned, right? Last night, or... And why's he not come to talk to me?"

Ella's hand immediately tangles into George's hair and scratches consolingly. "I don't know, Monkey. But it doesn't matter right now, does it? I saw Harry drop you off and you looked happy."

"I was happy," mumbles George. "He said -- He said he misses me all the time. And he wants me to be at his house, when I'm not."

Ella keeps scratching his hair. "That's nice. Louis better not be here to convince Jaymi to let you leave the band or something so you can go live in a cage in Harry's room, but. That's nice."

"I don't think he'd do that." George sighs and lets his head tip forward like he wants it to. "I just don't know why he'd be here and not talk to me."

"Well, you're seeing them tomorrow night," Ella says sensibly. "You'll find out."

"I guess. I hope so." George feels a bit wobbly in his stomach, though. "What if I've done something wrong?"

"Do you think you have?"

"I can't think of anything." Unless Louis is upset that George got off with Harry this morning? He doesn't think that'd be it, and he can't see why Louis would talk to Jaymi about it. Not just Jaymi, but Jaymi and Olly.

Ella smiles. "Good. Then he isn't upset with you. Maybe Jaymi's still upset with _him_."

"I hope not. He hasn't done anything wrong, either," George frets. He's starting to get more upset but Ella hasn't stopped scratching his hair so it's hard to do anything but want to sort of curl up in her lap.

He looks at her beseechingly and Ella sighs, scooting in her seat. "Hop on up."

"Yay!" George grins and does so, even though it's a little hard to get his legs to move the way he wants in these trousers. He might just put on joggers when he gets back to the hotel, to let his legs breathe.

"Can legs breathe?" he mutters, and starts to plait Ella's long hair.

"Yours definitely can't, can they?" asks Ella, tipping her head forward to give him more room. "Not in these."

George harrumphs and drops her braid. "See if I make your hair pretty now."

"Nooo, I'm sorry," she says dramatically, seizing his hand. "Please, Georgie? You're the only one who does it right."

George nods smugly. "That's more like it."

"Get back to it," Ella commands. "I haven't got all day. Make me pretty."

George smiles, but sees Louis stand, nod, and leave the theater without even a glance his way.

"Right," George says, then quickly frowns and shakes his head. "No, you're already pretty."

Ella hums noncommittally, but George can see the way her lips are curving at the corners and she has color at the tops of her ears. "Well, thank you, Gorgeous George."

George bites her for that one.

It makes her shriek, and everything devolves into a tickling fight, which Ella wins mostly because George just goes smiley and limp when he's being tickled.

"Hey! Whippersnappers!"

Rylan is standing at the edge of the stage with one hand on his hip. He genuinely z-snaps when they both look up -- probably something Nicole told him to do. 

"Some of us are trying to keep fitter than Gary Bore-low up here, yeah? Take your snogging somewheres else, and George, if you touch her girly bits, I'll kill ya and wear your face like a beauty mask."

George holds his hands up (and as far away from Ella's 'girly bits' as he can get them), getting to his feet and then offering her a hand. "Sorry," he offers to Rylan. He does feel a little guilty. Rylan's performance this week is so intricate it makes George's head hurt trying to watch everything at once.

George spends the rest of the day, up until their Jaymi-free twitcam, with Ella. He lets Jahmene borrow his monkey onesie for the twitcam so he can wear his new jeans on camera and everyone will see them.

He thinks that might please Louis, not that he thinks Louis is watching. He texts Louis about it later and doesn't get a reply.

George goes to bed on Friday night feeling utterly disgruntled. Jaymi isn't there to cuddle him, and Louis isn't speaking to him.

When he wakes up in the morning, he's got a text from Harry wishing him luck, and that does brighten his spirits a little. There's nothing from Louis, and George wishes he weren't so worried about that.

Jaymi doesn't turn up until it's nearly time to go onstage.

He looks a bit winded but otherwise cheerful, and apologizes profusely. "Just had to take care of something," he says, rather cryptically.

George is just happy to see him, and jumps unceremoniously into Jaymi's arms. His legs have to just... dangle, though, because the trousers they actually sewed him into are so tight.

Jaymi laughs, and squeezes George tightly. "Hello, Monkey, missed me, did you?" he asks. It's a stupid question.

George nods and tries to scrabble his arms tighter around Jaymi's neck. "Mm-hmm. Hold me up, my legs are tired."

"No wonder," Jaymi murmurs as he hooks his arms underneath George's thighs. "Did you have these painted on?"

"Sewed," George grunts as Jaymi lifts him up bridal-style to carry him around more comfortably. "Same difference."

"Can you even walk?" asks Jaymi curiously. "'Cause I can carry you out there like this if you want but I think it might mess with the choreography."

"I can walk, I just don't want to right now. My feet might fall asleep."

"Alright, I've got you, then." Jaymi shifts his arms so that he's holding George more securely. George hadn't realized how much he really did miss Jaymi -- their room last night had been stupidly quiet and George had needed a cuddle and he'd had Ella to talk to but Jaymi's different from Ella.

He wants, desperately, to ask Jaymi what Louis talked to him about the day before. But if he were meant to know, Louis would have talked to him since then.

George frowns.

"What's that about, Georgie?" Jaymi asks, swinging George from side to side a little. "Smiley smiles, please. I don't like seeing you frown."

"Sorry," George says, and he does have to giggle at that because he's wearing trousers so tight that his legs barely work and he'll probably never be able to have children and Jaymi is swooping him around like they're playing airplane.

"Alright, I've got to let you down now or I won't be able to hold a microphone." Jaymi sets George easily on his feet and then pulls him into a proper hug. "Missed you too, Monkey," he whispers in his ear.

George smiles. "No, you didn't. You had an Olly to climb you instead."

"And I enjoyed every second of it," Jaymi laughs. "Doesn't mean I didn't miss you. Olly's my Olly. You're my cuddlebuddy."

"Cuddlemosquito," George corrects, and bites Jaymi's wrist a little bit before stumbling away as gracefully as he can in those ridiculous trousers.

"If you fall over onstage because of those I'm laughing at you," Jaymi calls after him.

George gives him the finger as he toddles away, but he privately agrees.

It's hard to be really nervous about performing when they've done the song as many times as they have. George even manages to stay upright the entire time and he waits until they're off camera to give Jaymi a smug look.

"Told you I wouldn't fall over," he boasts.

"Yeah, alright," Jaymi concedes, but he's beaming too hard to sound anything but chuffed. Jaymi sits down on one of the stools in the greenroom and pats his knee. "Perch on, little monkey. What are those little ones with the faces like lions?"

"Capuchins?" George asks. He leans up against Jaymi's steady knee just to take some weight off his feet.

"That's them. You're a capuchin. Even got the mane."

"I can have it cut," George remembers. "A trim, anyway. I forgot to ask Jamie about it this week but next week I think I will. Maybe it'll make my head look less massive."

"Your head doesn't look massive, it's just the rest of you is quite small. Well. Mostly."

George laughs, leaning back against Jaymi for a moment. "Thanks, I guess. Anyway, I am allowed to have it cut, now."

Jaymi gives George's hair a ruffle. "Good. It tickles me in the night while you're sleeping."

"Well, there's another good reason to have it cut. It also takes ages to wash, especially when there's -- stuff, in it." George flushes a little as he thinks of yesterday morning, when he'd had to enlist Harry's help to get his hair all the way clean.

Jaymi wrinkles his nose. "Oh, don't let them do _that_. That's awful."

"They like it," George protests. "I like doing things they like. And it's not bad; just washing my hair afterwards."

"Ugh." Jaymi does not sound impressed.

"Not your head, is it?" George grumbles. "I like it."

Jaymi shakes his head. "You are not only a monkey, you are mad."

"That's me, Mad Monkey George," agrees George. "Now I just need to find a banana to eat."

"I could make a pun, but it would be terrible," Jaymi says. He pats George's thigh.

"I was already thinking it anyway." George takes Jaymi's hand so that he can play with his fingers. Maybe he's being a bit more -- _George_ , than usual, but he missed Jaymi a lot so he thinks it's allowed.

And maybe if he's sweet enough, Jaymi will tell him what Louis wanted.

Jaymi's other arm wraps around George's waist, pulling him more firmly onto his knee. "You really can't sit in those, can you?" he asks.

George shakes his head ruefully. "If I were a girl, I could. Or if I tucked differently, maybe."

"Ooh, ouch." Jaymi winces sympathetically. "Maybe back to your normal trousers next week? Can't be easy to jump off boxes in those. I'd offer to kiss it better, but, well."

George laughs and ducks his head. So at least Louis wasn't setting George free, or like -- trading him to Jaymi and Olly or something.

Not that he really thought that's what was going on, but still. He likes Jaymi a lot and Jaymi's cute and funny and nice but George belongs to Harry and Louis and he doesn't want to belong to anyone else.

Absently, George touches the bracelet that still winds around his wrist. He wouldn't let the styling team take it off, even though he removed all of the rest of his bracelets and his giant watch.

He doesn't ever want to take it off. He doesn't want to think about a day when he'd have to take it off.

Jaymi nudges George's shoulder with his chin. "Buck up, little capuchin. Your boys will be here soon."

It's automatic, the way George perks up before he frowns. "They're still coming, then?" he mutters. He'd thought, maybe -- but it doesn't matter now.

"Of course they're coming." Jaymi sounds concerned. "Unless they texted you that they're not?"

"No, I just. Never mind." George bounces a little on Jaymi's knee. "You're right, of course they are."

Jaymi gives George a little one-armed hug, and they watch the rest of the show.

The atmosphere's different backstage than it has been in the past. George thinks maybe it's hitting people that any of them could go home each week. As the weeks go by they're all getting closer and it's a bit tense now, to say the least.

He's sad watching Rylan's performance in a way that Rylan's performances should definitely not make people feel.

It's got to be either them or him, and George hates to think of it like that because he genuinely adores Rylan and he knows Rylan likes them, but Rylan's the only person other than them left who's been in the bottom two and it just makes sense that tomorrow it'll be them and him, no matter how well they just performed.

It won't be James or Jahmene or Ella. He would love to think Chris will go, but honestly Chris' nan _is_ sweet and he's never been in the bottom two, either, so he must be doing something right that Union J are doing wrong.

A sneaky part of George's brain thinks the thing Chris has done right was just being born in the right city, but that's mean to think and he knows it, so he firmly sets the thought to one side.

Xtra Factor is fun this week, because George gets to hold his guitar and they all sing and George knows, with a sort of finite click, that they sounded _good_ and maybe, just maybe, this week they'll get votes.

He has to hope, anyway. He's not ready for all of this to end yet. There's still so much more he wants to do.

(Secretly, he thinks, his fondest wish is to get to sing with Louis and Harry onstage. That probably will never happen, but he can dream. Stranger things had happened -- even just last night.)

The show wraps up and George lingers because that's what he does, until Harry and Louis find him. There's still the tiniest bit of him that thinks maybe they won't come this week, and Louis had been telling Jaymi to let him down easily or something after so much time had gone by and they still weren't there.

But Jaymi's gone, swept off with Olly as soon as the cameras stopped rolling.

Just as well. Someone should get laid tonight, anyway.

He still has Ella, though, to talk to for a while. It's comforting and selfish, he knows, to think that -- just because of how the competition works -- there's no way he'll ever have to deal with it without Ella there.

Ella is oddly quiet, though. She always overthinks her performances later, since she has the most professional vocal training of anyone left besides Josh, but she's just _different_ tonight as she pets his hair.

It makes George want to offer to stay with her, but he knows she'd tell him to stop being an idiot and go, and besides, he does really want to see Harry and Louis again. Even if he just saw them the day before.

He can see Ella whenever he wants, anyway. Harry and Louis will be gone for three-quarters of the next year.

Arms come around George's waist, and he hadn't realized how worried he was until he sags in relief so hard he nearly does fall over.

"Sorry we're late," Harry murmurs. "Traffic was awful. You'd think the X Factor was popular with how many people are outside."

George laughs a trifle hysterically. "You both came. Traffic, yeah. Of course."

Harry presses a kiss to the soft spot behind George's ear that makes him shiver. "Of course we came."

He has to remind himself that kissing Harry while they're still pretty much in public would be a terrible idea but it doesn't mean he doesn't _want_ to.

"Nice jeans," Harry whispers in his ear instead, and George goes red.

“I can't sit in them," George says back under his breath. "So I guess I'll just have to lie in the backseat, won't I?"

Harry chuckles lowly. "Always a nice prospect."

"Awful." Ella tsks, her hands on her hips. "Go on, get out of here, both of you. Before you subject my innocent mind to more of your depravity."

Harry tips a pretend hat. "Always lovely to see you, Ella. You sang beautifully. That was one of Louis' favorite songs."

"Shut up," Ella laughs. "No, it wasn't."

"It was," Harry insists. "He loves _Grease_."

"It's his favorite film, I think," agrees George. "You might've even beat out James this week in the Louis' Favorite Performance competition."

Ella shakes her head. "We can only hope."

George gives Ella a tight hug, and rubs his face against hers for luck or something; he's not sure what.

"So cuddly," Ella says, and rubs his back. "Go. Do unspeakable things and then don't speak of them to me."

"Your wish is my command." George pecks her on the cheek before he takes a step backward to press his back against Harry. It's quick enough that he can call it an accident, but really he just wanted the reassurance of all that contact.

Harry rubs his hands briskly up and down George's sides twice like he's warming him up after snow.

It's ridiculous and very Harry, and it makes George laugh.

"Let's go. I think we need to get you out of those trousers before your feet die."

"And I think you'll find no objections here." George grabs Harry's hand, just for a second. "I'm really tired of standing."

Harry laughs at that and pulls George along through the maze of backstage.

Sometime, George will have to ask how they know every single way in and out of the building, because Harry takes him down a hall George has never seen before and pushes open a door, and there's Harry's car waiting for them with Louis behind the wheel and nobody else in sight.

George pauses at the sight of Louis, nervous and shy all of a sudden.

"Go on," Harry coaxes him, a hand on George's lower back. "You have a lie-down in the back for a minute while I talk to Lou. Won't be long, promise."

George frowns, but clambers into the back of the Rover and lies down on the seat, feet in his pointy boots pointing up to the ceiling because he can't quite reach to untie them.

True to Harry's word, he's only a minute or so before he gets into the back with George, lifting up his feet and putting them across his legs. He begins to undo the laces of George's shoes as he talks. "Your performance was brilliant, by the way. You looked amazing, and sounded amazing."

"Thanks," George says softly. Louis still hasn't talked to him since Thursday night.

He doesn't look angry when George tries to catch a glimpse of him. He can only see the side of Louis' face, but he looks... Calm. Sort of determined, but not angry, or sad. George doesn't know what to make of it but he wishes Louis would talk to him.

George swallows twice, feeling his heart beating in his neck, and ventures: "Hi, Louis."

"Hello, love," Louis answers. There's not even a hesitation. "I like your trousers."

"You would," George grumps. "But I can't feel my willy. Or my feet. Or my knees. And my bum's quite compressed."

"Well, that's a shame. I like your bum, and your willy, and your legs, and all of you." Louis just sounds amused at George's discomfort. "Would you like Harry to get you out of your trousers?"

George is silent for a moment, considering. That would be a whole lot of nudity for the back of the car, moving in public, and they wouldn't be able to get his trousers back on for the walk up Harry's drive, either, because the costuming team had sewn him into them back at the studio.

"You can say no," says Harry gently, as Louis makes a bit of a sharp turn. "Remember? If you're uncomfortable. You're allowed to say no."

"I know," George assures him. "I'm just thinking."

"By all means." Harry gives him a dimple-cheeked grin, his thumbs pressing into the arch of one of George's feet.

George rumble-groans softly. "That's nice."

"Yeah?" Harry repeats the motion, rubbing in widening circles. "I know the blood flow to your feet can't have been that great."

George laughs. "Bit of experience with tight jeans, then?"

"Just a bit." Harry tickles George's toes. "I remember when I used to be able to just let my dick go where it wanted. Now I've got to look up weird videos on the internet to figure out where to put it if I want to wear the jeans I like."

George knows that his face looks horrified. "There are _videos_ that _teach_ that?"

"Yeah, and sometimes I fuck it all up for him when I put him back in the wrong place," Louis pipes from the front seat. "Hazza, your dick looked a mess in the photos from my footie game. Shameful."

"You're going to give it a bad reputation," Harry grumbles. "People talk, you know. What if they start talking about how my dick's a mess? What will sell the magazine covers then?"

"Once his dick was such an outrageous mess, this American magazine photoshopped new swim trunks on him," Louis confides in George. "Don't ever let your willy get that bad, Georgie."

"I'll -- try my hardest," George replies, bewildered. He can't imagine a magazine caring that much about his willy one way or another.

Harry looks particularly disgruntled, but he hasn't stopped massaging the arches of George's feet.

He lets his head fall back against the seat. Harry's got good hands for this. "Maybe you should look into being a masseuse if this whole biggest band in the world thing doesn't work out."

Harry laughs. "I have all sorts of backup careers. Masseuse. Porn star. Professional nanny. Probably shouldn't do all three at once."

“I'd imagine that might get confusing, especially if you happened to show up at one dressed for another," George agrees.

"Oh, _god_."

"You should probably stick to this one," advises Louis. "Singing and that. You're too curly to be a nanny."

The car turns another corner. "George, did you want Harry to get you out of your clothes? Yes or no, please."

His trousers are really very tight and even uncomfortable while he's lying down, but George doesn't want to be naked in public, even if the public's in a car or outside Harry's house. He shakes his head a little. "No. Thank you, though."

"Alright," Louis says amiably, right away. "That's just fine, George."

George relaxes. Louis isn't upset with him, apparently, and neither is Harry, and he's alright. He still wants to know why Louis was talking to Jaymi and his Olly, but if Louis wants him to know, he'll probably say.

Harry's still rubbing his feet, and it feels so nice that George closes his eyes. Just to rest them, he tells himself. He feels so warm and taken care of, and lying down his trousers don't even feel as tight.

It seems like barely a minute goes by and then Harry's rubbing his chest slowly, and saying his name.

"What?" asks George, blinking his eyes open and then blinking again when his vision swims a little.

"You fell asleep," Harry says fondly. "It took like a _second_. You're like a puppy, only you didn't have to walk around in a circle three times first."

"I did not fall asleep," George squawks. The car isn't moving anymore, though, not even the rumble of the engine. Either they've arrived at Harry's house or parked on the street for no reason. "Did I really?"

"You did," Louis confirms. He pauses. "Did you want a nap? Or just to sleep tonight?"

"No, no," George assures, rubbing his eyes. The world looks a bit clearer now. "No, I'm fine. Only meant to close my eyes for a second. I'm awake now, though." He smiles at Louis hopefully.

Louis smiles and kisses George's forehead lightly. "Good."

George can't help it; he surges up a little to wrap his arms around Louis' neck in a hug. His nose presses against Louis' throat and he closes his eyes for a second, just feeling him.

Louis hugs George around the waist, and it's nice -- George has spent a lot of time cuddling with Harry, but not much time with Louis just... being.

"Come on inside, love," Louis whispers to him. "We can have tea and talk."

George frowns. "I don't want -- what do we have to talk about?"

"Can't we just talk for a bit?" Louis raises his eyebrows. "I'd like tea, and I like talking with my tea."

George shrugs. "Alright. If that's what you want."

"Good lad. I'll make you some as well." Louis kisses his head again. "Harry makes an excellent cuppa, did you know?"

George wrinkles his nose. "I normally choose coffee, personally."

"We've got coffee," says Louis agreeably. "Whatever you'd like."

George beams at that. He does love coffee.

Louis frowns down at George's bare feet. "Do you want your shoes back on or would you like a piggyback inside? You're rather partial to the second, I've noticed."

"I don't think I can lift my legs enough for a piggyback ride." George sighs. "I can tiptoe."

"As long as you don't hurt yourself," Louis says in reply, ducking out of the car and offering a hand to George when he opens his door.

George gallops to the door because the ground is _cold_ and he hops from foot to foot as he waits for Harry to open the door.

He's smiling, and it seems like he must be deliberately fumbling to get his key out because George feels like his feet are going to fall off by the time Harry gets the door open.

George hops over the threshhold and fists his hands into Harry's collar. "Get me out of these trousers, I think my knees have rigor mortis."

Harry laughs, because he's mean, but he also moves to undo the fasten of George's trousers, because he's actually really, really nice.

The problem with having been sewn into the jeans means that Harry eventually has to text Caroline Watson for advice on how to get the material over the knobbles of George's knees and feet -- which he does, laughing so hard he and Louis are almost crying.

“It's not funny," George grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. He's cold now, naked from the waist now, and grumpy. "I could've _died_."

"You could not have died." Louis' lips are still twitching. "And we'd've known eventually how to get you out."

"I would've had to wear those trousers the rest of my life. You wouldn't have been able to fuck me ever again." George lifts his eyes to meet Louis', wide and guileless. "Maybe _you_ would've died."

Louis pushes George's shoulder. "You look ridiculous in that suitcoat and no pants or trousers or socks. You weird pervert newscaster."

"I could take the suitcoat off," George suggests, already tugging at his lapels. "If you wanted."

"No, I'm sort of weirdly into it?" Louis starts heading to the kitchen. "I think you've tapped into a new fetish."

"Always a pleasure," George mumbles, sketching out a sloppy bow before he follows Louis, jumping when Harry pinches his bum.

Louis brews himself and Harry cups of tea while George putters around making his own coffee. He feels beyond ridiculous without any pants and trousers. He even has a tie on.

It's what Louis likes, and George likes doing what Louis likes him to do. He might feel ridiculous, and he's almost positive he looks ridiculous, but if Louis doesn't think so then that's good enough reason for him.

Louis gives George's bum a little squeeze as he passes behind him to get to the refrigerator. "Your bum is so little; I love it."

"Well, we can't all have your arse. Gravity would work differently."

"Indeed it would. You'd look odd with more of an arse, I think. Perfect the way you are." Louis kisses his nose as he passes back around him. "I like how little you are. Makes you easy to hold."

George smiles a little. Everyone likes that he's little.

"Would you like a bit of toast?" Louis asks. His voice is mild, and it doesn't seem leading, or like he's testing George.

George shakes his head. "Not unless you're eating?"

"I could eat." Louis shrugs. "I like toast with my tea."

George shrugs one shoulder in return. "That's fine."

It is not the way he'd assumed his night would be going, but it's fine.

Louis busies himself putting bread down into the slots of the toaster and then slides a cup of steaming tea across the table to Harry. "I put your sugar in, you barbarian."

Harry lights up at that like Christmas morning, and he kisses the side of Louis' head like he's done something wonderful.

George wants that, too. He wants -- he wants what Harry and Louis have, or Jaymi and Olly.

He doesn't let himself think about it too much. It'll only make him sad, because what Harry and Louis have is theirs, and it's going to keep being theirs. George doesn't really think there's room for more in it. And what he has with them is fine, it's just... When he lets himself think about it, he wants more. He wants so much more.

He doesn't just want to be the guy who shows up once a week for them to jizz all over. They may have collared him, and he loves that -- he loves being theirs -- but he wants them to be _his_ , too, and that --

Isn't worth thinking about. They like him, they care about him, he loves them. It's fine.

It has to be fine, anyway.

"So," says Louis, sitting at the table and passing George a plate of toast. "I'd like to talk about your limits. It's far past time we should have, and so we're going to now."

George frowns and picks at the edge of his toast. Limits? That's like, the opposite of what he wants. He doesn't want to limit what they'll do with him; he wants to open that up and just -- be with them _more_.

"Eat," Louis coaxes gently before continuing. "I just, I know that you don't like it, when I ask you if you want something, or if I ask what you'd like to do. You want me to tell you what to do, and I'm -- I'm all for that, obviously, I'd love to do that for you. But I can't until I know what things I can't tell you to do."

George keeps picking at his toast. "I don't -- you know what I don't like. I don't like being hit, or when people hurt my wrists. That's all, really."

"It's not, though." Louis sets a hand on George's knee. "I know you don't like talking about this. But we need to trust each other for this to work, and so I really think we should have a -- a list, a sort of checklist of things, and you can tell us whether it's good or bad or neither."

George pulls a terrible face and tears a chunk away from his toast. Harry lays his hand gently over George's to stop him; he pulls the toast away and spreads it with marmalade so George will eat it and stop playing with it.

"I only ever have like once a week that I can be here," George mutters. "Can't we -- later, or something? I don't want to waste it."

Louis looks torn at that. "I think -- but I think it's important, George. I think we should have talked about it a long time ago, but you keep dodging me."

"But you know what I don't like," George insists. "You're not going to hit me, are you?"

"No!" Louis cries. "Not ever, George."

"Right, and I know that. And you're not, you don't do stuff to my wrists that I don't like. So we're sorted, aren't we?" George smiles at him. "You know all the things I don't like."

"But there's been stuff you hadn't told us. Like -- how you don't like being naked in public, I wouldn't have stopped that if you hadn't said."

"But I did say; I told you that. I tell you when there's other things I don't like. Isn't that what the colors thing is for?"

Louis sighs and scrubs his hand through his hair. "I guess that's true."

"I just want to be with you." George softens his voice. "Maybe when there's more time, if I can ever be here for more than a night. Then we can talk about it, alright? But right now I'm probably going home tomorrow and I want you to fuck me."

Louis' shoulders soften at that. "You're not going home, love. You were brilliant.”

"The country mustn't think so or we'd've been in the bottom two less than we have." George attempts another smile. "It doesn't matter. I'm here right now."

"Yeah, you are, and you're _brilliant_ and we're glad," Harry says.

"Glad enough to have your way with me? _Please_?" George says, looking between them.

Louis still looks a little uncomfortable, but he nods.

George grins, and slips off of his chair to wrap his arms around Louis, lips pressed to his neck.

"I like everything you do with me," he murmurs. He kisses Louis' neck again. "Everything."

"Don't say that," Louis whispers back. He sounds sad, and George can't figure out why.

"But I do." George's lips press softly to where Louis' pulse is beginning to stir under his skin.

Louis shakes his head, but, George notices a little smugly, not enough to remove George's mouth. "Not everything," he says under his breath, one hand rubbing George's back.

George just hums and sucks lightly at the same spot. He likes Louis' neck a lot, even if Louis doesn't like marks quite as much as George or Harry does.

"I haven't _hated_ anything," George offers. "And I like trying new things." He pauses before fighting dirty: "I want to try _that_ new thing. The one you mentioned last week."

He can feel the way Louis shivers with his whole body, and suppresses a smirk because Louis would be able to feel it against his skin.

"You -- would?" Louis asks, his voice a croak. "Really?"

"Yeah," George breathes. "I really do. I've thought about it a lot."

"Have you?" Louis tips his head back a little. "I'd really, really like that. To do that. With you."

 

"Yeah, please," George encourages. "I even, erm, I practiced a bit with my -- the -- plug? And one of my fingers? A bit?"

Louis swallows, and George can feel the bob of his throat. "You're going to be the death of me," he whispers. "How did it feel?"

“It was a lot," George admits. "But erm, it was fine. Bit like fucking Harry, if I'm honest."

Louis laughs in his ear. "Maybe we'll practice a bit more, then. You can try taking my cock and a finger or two, how's that sound?" He kisses George's shoulder. "You're brilliant."

George shivers. "Yes, please."

"We'd better get up to bed, then." Louis noses beneath George's ear, one hand sliding to curl around his hip. "Shouldn't we?"

George nods, glad that Louis has stopped asking him to _talk_ about things. The things he wants to say -- they aren't really sexy discussion topics.

The adventure up the stairs is as entertaining as always, with Harry sort of pushing George up them by his arse and Louis giving Harry directions so that they don't go careening into a wall or anything.

"Can I please take off this jacket and tie now?" George asks. "I _feel_ like a weird, pervert newscaster."

"Of course you can." Louis helps George get his jacket off and then hangs it neatly over a chair in the corner of the room. It's probably the only neat thing about the room, actually. Harry's a bit of a slob at the best of times.

As soon as George is naked, Harry's hands are on him, running lightly over his chest and belly. 

"You're so fit, George. I can't even stand it."

It makes George smile, and he has to lean up and kiss Harry, his hand tucking underneath Harry's shirt to touch skin and the juts of his hipbones and the way his abs twitch a little when George's fingers run over them.

"I'm gonna just -- " Louis coughs. "I'm gonna step out and get my head in the right place. George, I want you on your hands and knees when I come back."

"Okay," George accepts. He's never done it like that with them, hands and knees. It's sex with Louis and Harry, though, so it's hardly going to be bad. He gives Harry another kiss and crawls onto the bed, looking over his shoulder as coyly as he can.

Harry slides his hands down George's back and cover the little curve of his bum, thumbs spreading George open slightly.

It's a little weird, not being able to see Harry while he's doing this, but he's touching George, and George loves when Harry touches him.

Harry's lips press to George's tailbone and George startles a little, but Harry's hands on his hips steady him and George drops his head, arching into it.

"Good boy, pretty boy," Harry whispers. He kisses the same place again, his lips lingering there for a moment like he's trying not to spook a wild animal.

George whimpers a little, nearly noiseless. Harry nudges George's knees a little further apart, then smudges his kisses down.

It's been ages, it seems, since Harry last did this to him, but it's still as overwhelming as it always is. Harry's tongue is hot and wet and definitely not timid as he licks firmly over George's hole, then blows a stream of cool air over him.

George groans brokenly and drops his head onto his forearms. This was -- it's fast, jumping right into things like this. He doesn't even know whether Harry's undressed.

It does feel good, though. It feels amazing. Harry's always amazing, at this and at all the other sex suff as well. Louis is, too, but in a different way.

George pushes back a little against Harry's mouth and feels him laugh softly, buzzing into his skin.

The vibrations of it send a shudder down his spine and Harry grips his hips a little more tightly, his mouth sucking kisses and licks and little nipping bites, and George bites one of his knuckles to stop making so much noise.

Harry's mouth pulls back and George whines a little.

"I wanna hear you, Georgie. I need to know if you like it."

There's a little pause, and then a slick finger is pressing carefully into George.

George lets out a little _oh_ , mixed surprise and pleasure, because he wasn't expecting it but it's nice to have something inside him again. Harry is going slow, but not so slow that George can't feel it when he curls his fingers slightly.

Harry's mouth is soft in contrast when he starts kissing over the place his finger's disappeared, and it feels a little filthy to have his tongue licking in beside it.

It makes George think of how much more a cock and fingers is going to feel, and he shivers again in anticipation. He wasn't lying before, even if it had been partially a way to distract Louis. He really has been wanting to try this.

He wants to give them something no one else can. Not even each other.

And then they'll pretty much have to keep him.

Harry is pushing another finger in alongside his first, slick with his spit so it doesn't feel so bad going in. George hardly feels full yet, and he's looking forward so much to the feeling of it.

Harry keeps kissing him, too, and his other hand is lightly brushing up and down George's back, raising goosebumps and making him shiver, and it's all very -- soft. Not comfortable, exactly, but it's not overwhelming yet.

All of George's senses feel heightened, and he can hear when Louis pads back into the room, soft footsteps on the carpet. Louis doesn't say anything and he doesn't get on the bed yet, just watches silently as Harry works George over.

"That's really good, Harry," Louis praises. "How many fingers is George taking now?"

"Just about to give him three," murmurs Harry, the tip of his third finger teasing at George's hole, and George -- doesn't like that they're talking about him like he can't hear. He doesn't like that, but he can deal with it.

"Good," Louis says. "Don't give him a fourth until I've been able to fuck him for a bit. I don't want him so stretched out 'til he has to be."

 _I'm right here_ , George wants to say and doesn't. Instead, he shifts back against Harry's fingers, moaning when Harry slides the third in along the other two.

Harry kisses the top of George's thigh. "You're so eager for it, George."

And he is, he really is, he wants to feel full and wanted and good, and right now he sort of feels a bit ill, but that'll go away now that they're paying attention to him again. He likes being paid attention to.

He gives Harry a loud moan so that they'll keep it up, keep talking to him, their attention on him.

"You look so good with fingers in you," Harry tells him. "You're going to look even better with Louis' cock in you, aren't you? You're gonna take so much."

"Mm-hmm," George whimpers. "Want you, too, Harry."

He wants to float, really, is what George wants, but he's _thinking_ too much. He wants -- well, he wants to rest his head on Louis' lap and not his own arms, maybe, or at least he wants to hold Harry's free hand.

He wants to be able to touch them, and see them, while they do this. But if that's not what they want, then he can do it like this, and it'll be good anyway because everything Harry and Louis do is good.

And it does feel good, Harry's fingers. They always feel good.

The bed dips with Louis' weight, finally, but he doesn't come up to George's end. He joins Harry and sets his hand on George's hip, and now he can't see either of them but he can feel them both looking at him and he -- doesn't -- _like_ it.

"Louis?" he murmurs.

"Yes, love?" Louis asks. "What do you want?"

"I can't see you," George mutters. He sounds stupid. He sounds so stupid.

Louis' hand just comes up and ruffles George's hair. "I know, love, I'm sorry."

George goes a little quiet.

Maybe it'll be better once Louis is inside him. If he can feel Louis close like that, maybe he won't care as much about how -- how they're sort of looming behind him.

He isn't scared of them, anyway. He trusts them. And they're using his name, and telling him --

"Am I good?" 

"You're _very_ good, Georgie," Louis murmurs. "Look so good with Harry's fingers in you."

They're telling him he's good, so he is. He's very good, even, so he can do whatever Louis wants him to do.

"I'm very good," he whispers. "Very good."

"Yeah." Louis rubs George's back. "You're good, George." His voice softens. "Harry, love, take your fingers out of him. I want to get in."

Harry makes a disappointed noise like he can't bear to leave George's arse, and that's a bit of a thrill. He takes his fingers out with a soft wet sound and George has to steady himself on his knees.

Louis' hands settle onto George's hips and the blunt head of his cock starts pressing into George, sliding easily.

It feels good. Great, even, although they're both still behind him and it's making George feel a bit itchy, he loves being fucked by Louis and this time's no different.

He groans and arches his back -- the fog is starting to come in now, finally, now that Louis is inside him.

It's a steady push and then Louis is inside all the way, thick and perfect. George has missed this.

George shifts and Louis' hands tighten on his hips, steadying him so he can't move for a moment until Louis' adjusted.

And that's good, that's nice, George likes it when Louis holds him down a bit. He likes not being able to move while he's being fucked.

He -- wants to ask Harry to come up for a bit and maybe just hold his arms a little, just for the pressure there, and just so he can see them, but he isn't sure he's meant to ask for things. The words don't seem to be able to break through the floating fog to get to his mouth.

Harry's rubbing his back, though, and that's quite nice. Really nice, the way Harry's fingers are drawing little circles on George's spine, up and down and up again. It gives him something to focus on other than how they're behind him and he can't see them.

And it's not -- like, he already knows it's just Harry and Louis. It's not like there's suddenly going to be someone else there, not like it's going to be a stranger. He knows them, he trusts them. He's pretty sure he's in love with them, so it doesn't make sense that he's so nervous. It's just _sex_.

It's good sex, too, like it always is. Louis knows how to fuck, and he knows where to angle his thrusts so he drags inside George with a sort of delicious filthiness. It's really, really good, and George wishes he was enjoying it the way he should be.

Louis hand comes around George's waist and touches George's cock, fingers wrapping around.

That's nice, that's good, and he's touching George, which is better. George hums and spreads his legs a little wider as Louis strokes once, firmly.

"Harry, give him your fingers to suck on for a bit; I think he's nervous."

There it is again, talking about George without talking _to_ him. It makes him feel sharp around the edges, but Harry does give him two fingers to suck, and that makes the jagged bits roll back a little.

Harry's other hand weaves through George's hair lightly. "You're doing so good, George."

George gives Harry's fingers a particularly enthusiastic suck in gratitude. He still doesn't feel quite _right_ , but Harry's touching him, and talking to him, and George can sort of see him out of the corner of his eye.

Louis keeps fucking into him, hand working at the same pace so there's not a moment of respite.

All George can do, really, is focus on Harry's fingers, and try not to think. Nothing good will come of it if he thinks too much, and he wants to be in his floating place but it's still lingering on the edges. He doesn't think he'd care that he can't see Louis if he was in his floating place.

George pulls back on Harry's fingers and turns his head a little. "Harry, I need -- " He cuts himself off. He doesn't know what he needs, really.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" Harry asks him, and that sends a little thrill up his spine.

"Not sure," George admits. "Don't think -- I don't think I'm, I dunno."

Harry frowns a little and touches George's cheek. "What's your color, love? How're you doing?"

"I'm fine, it feels good and everything, I'm just... not floaty."

Louis has slowed the pace of his thrusts, gone languid and steady, and he trails a hand up George's back.

"How can we help?" Harry whispers, stroking George's cheek. "What do you need?"

George chews on the inside of his cheek. "I'm being silly, though. It's dumb."

"It's not dumb." Harry kisses George's forehead and then his lips. "I know how much you like being under."

George smiles and hums softly. "I just -- I like being able to see you."

Louis bends down and kisses between George's shoulder blades. "You wanna ride me, love?"

Oh. _Oh_. George hasn't done that, with either of them, and he'd be able to see Louis' face and touch him and that sounds perfect. "Please, yes?" he asks. "Please?"

Louis pulls out and George whimpers a little, but Louis just rolls onto his back and pats George's thigh. "Come on up, love."

George doesn't know if he's ever moved this fast in his life. He flails around a little and then swings a leg over Louis' lap, sinking down with a happy sigh.

Somehow, this feels even better, this feels _perfect_.

"Good boy, just like that, yeah? Feels good?" Louis whispers to him, one of his arms around George's waist as the other tucks hair behind his ears. "Better?"

George bounces enthusiastically on Louis' cock and moans, feeling the gold-white floaty fog settle firmly over his brain now, like being able to see that Louis was looking at _him_ , just him, and it's really Louis inside him was all he needed.

Louis laughs softly and sets his mouth against George's collarbone, biting down hard enough that George sees sparks, his nerves jangling, and maybe it's just how wrong it was before but right now feels as good as he might ever feel.

Harry's warmth presses up alongside him as Harry nestles beside Louis and George and he runs his hand down George's back.

"Look at you," he murmurs affectionately. "So pretty taking Louis' cock like that, looks so good."

If it looks half as good as it feels, George must look amazing right now. His mouth is half open and he can't be bothered to close it, half hopes someone puts something in it for him to suck on. 

"Being so good," Louis tells him. George wants to burst with happiness. "You feel so good, Georgie."

His thighs are already starting to burn a bit, but it's _so_ good. He wants to feel it in every step he takes tomorrow.

Harry kisses the skin just behind his ear and then whispers, "Are you ready to take a finger, too?"

A shiver runs down George's spine. Louis feels bigger from this angle, not that he was small, per se, before -- he just isn't Harry -- and he's hitting such good places so deep inside. But he does. He does want to take one of Harry's fingers, he wants all of them.

He nods, and Harry kisses his ear again. George can feel his smile, and he's proud of himself for making it happen.

Harry's finger teases around where George is stretched open for Louis, and George has a moment of doubt that he'll be able to get a finger in at all -- but first the tip, and then down to the knuckle edge in alongside Louis' cock. It does hurt a little, but that's to be expected, and Louis makes a sort of gurgling noise, so George figures it must be amazing for him.

He remembers what it felt like, when he did this for Louis. His cock jumps, needy, with the memory.

Louis has slowed down a lot, his arm around George's hips tight enough that George can't move as quickly as he'd like to. He thinks Louis might need the pace to be so slow, that maybe it feels too good, and that's amazing.

Harry's finger inches in deeper and the jut of his knuckle -- well, that hurts a little, popping against the already-stretched rim.

It's nothing George can't handle, when he's in this amber-gold haze of cloudiness. He just feels stretched more than he was, but it's alright, and it doesn't feel any bigger than getting fucked by Harry does.

"You're so good, George, that's so good," Louis murmurs. "D'you like it, love? D'you want more?"

"Yes," George answers immediately, groaning through clenched teeth when Harry's finger presses in all the way. He wants what Louis wants, and Louis wants him to be good.

Harry kisses George's shoulder, letting his teeth scrape a little.

He slides his finger out and then there are two fingers pushing against the slickness of George's hole, the tips slipping in.

That's -- it's not bad. It's more than it seems like just one more finger should be, and George has to slow his movement on Louis' dick.

"Easy," Louis soothes, and George tries to listen to that instead of focusing on how Harry's knuckles are bigger than his fingertips, and it's sort of, it's starting to hurt, a little.

George closes his eyes and braces his hands on Louis' chest.

He's not moving at all anymore, just gritting his teeth and trying to keep still, and then Harry's second knuckles squeeze inside and that _hurts_ , and George -- snaps, a little, and he's not floating anymore, it just hurts and he doesn't like this.

He thinks he might be shaking his head, and he knows he's whimpering high up in his throat because he can feel it, hurting his throat, and that's not making him feel better, and there are -- cracks, it seems like, dark lines spidering in cracking through the white fog.

There's a word, and he needs to use the word but he can't remember it, and that just frustrates him even more. He needs his word. His mouth opens and for a long moment he's just trying to breathe, gasping in air and then -- "Red, red, _red_ , please, red, I can't --"

Harry's fingers are gone and then gripping his shoulders to help him lie back, and then Louis isn't inside him anymore and it doesn't hurt but he can't open his eyes, either.

"George." Louis' voice. "D'you want us to touch you or not touch you? Please, please tell us, George."

He's still making that whimpering sound and he tries to stop but it just keeps coming, and he really just wants a hug. George holds out his arms, and his hand touches skin.

"Hey, hey, hey." Harry now, low and quiet. "You're alright, George, you're perfect. You're okay. Does it hurt still?" He pauses. "Did I -- I didn't mean to hurt you."

George takes a deep, shuddering breath, and opens his eyes. They feel raw and a little wet, and he's bitten his lip so hard it hurts, but he can see Harry, and Louis, who looks drained of color and so, so frightened.

George can't really talk, but he shakes his head. It doesn't hurt anymore, it's -- sore, like after fucking Harry is sore or like, like other times have been sore, but it doesn't _hurt_.

"Can we touch you?" Louis asks in a voice gone quiet and shaky. "Is that alright?"

George nods and grasps at whoever's chest he's touching.

Harry's, it turns out, and Harry presses up close to George's side, his nose tucked against George's neck and an arm over him, as close as he can possibly get.

"You're okay, George, I'm so sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, George."

George wants to tell Harry that it's not his fault, of course it's not, but his throat's still choked up and he can't get the words out. He just shakes his head.

Louis tucks himself against George's other side and kisses his shoulder, once, then twice, and a third time. He breathes out against George's skin and closes his eyes.

"George, this is why I wanted to talk to you," Louis murmurs. "I just feel like... everything we try to do with you lately goes wrong. Like I do it all wrong."

It's not Louis' fault, either. George croaks out a noise because he wants Louis to know that: it isn't his fault George is like this.

"George, it is my fault," Louis whispers. "It's all my fault, everything, like -- you shouldn't feel like you have to do difficult stuff just because it like." Louis cuts himself off and buries his face in George's shoulder.

George doesn't, he knows he doesn't, he just likes doing things for Louis and making him happy. It doesn't mean he thinks he _has_ to.

"Isn't," he manages, shaky and almost silent.

Harry kisses George's shoulder. "You were right to red out, sweetheart. I'm really glad you did."

He wasn't, because now Louis feels like he's done something wrong and he _hasn't_. George swears he hasn't. Harry's calling him sweetheart, though. He likes that so much.

George turns his head a little and nuzzles his nose against Harry's to thank him, since he can't quite talk still.

"You were such a good boy to say when it was too much," Harry whispers. He kisses George's mouth gently. "That was really good, George."

George finally opens his eyes. "Wasn't your fault. Or Louis."

"We should've communicated with you better." Harry says it in a very matter-of-fact way. "We'll know to do that in the future."

"We really, really need to make a list of your limits, George." Louis' voice is muffled in George's shoulder. "Soon. I don't want to put it off any longer. I don't want this to happen again."

"But I wanted this," George protests. He feels his energy coming back in a quiet sort of looming anxiety. "I really, really do. Genuinely, I do."

Louis kisses him under his chin. "I believe you," he says softly. "Why did you have to switch positions, love?"

George doesn't want to talk about that. He really doesn't. He feels his throat close up a little.

Louis rubs his belly a little, nosing up next to George's ear. "That's a limit. Especially if you can't even talk about it without going all tense."

George makes a little choked noise. "But it's stupid."

"George, it doesn't matter the reasons behind your limits, they're _limits_. There can be no reason at all behind them and we still won't do them." Louis strokes the side of George's face and looks at him very seriously. "I never want to hurt you."

"But that part was part of what I wanted," George complains. It feels like there's a tantrum brewing in him and he doesn't know _why_.

"I don't mean hurt like bruises. I mean really _hurt_ you, in your head, make you have to red out, or make you upset, or sad." Louis smiles a little. "I'll give you the things you want. But I need to know the things you don't want first."

George growls a little. _Why don't they understand, he wanted the fingers, he just had to say red because it was a lot, but he_ wanted it.

"You're angry," says Louis quietly. He looks a little surprised. "I don't know if I've ever seen you angry before."

"I don't know how many times I can say that I wanted it before you _listen to me_."

"Why did you need to change positions?" Louis asks again, and his eyebrows have pulled together. "If you wanted it, why did you need to stop? And why don't you want to tell me what your limits are?"

George fights his way through their arms and sits up. "I just did, alright?"

"Why?" Louis presses. "This is what I'm talking about, I always feel like I'm going wrong with you. What's it going to take for you to see that we _need_ to talk about these things?"

"I don't want to waste the time we have on _talking_ about things that _don't matter_." George pushes Louis' shoulder down. "Come on, let me try again."

"No fucking way," Louis counters, and he barely moves when George pushes his shoulder again. "They do matter. And we've got time. We don't have to always spend it -- we can just _talk_ , sometimes."

"We do talk!" George argues. "We talk -- me and Harry talk in the morning, always. And you and I, we talked -- well, we talk on the phone a lot. We _talk_."

"So why can't we talk now?" Louis crosses his legs like he's making a point. "Why don't you want to talk now?"

"Because you brought me here for _sex_."

"We brought you here because we _love_ you, and we want to spend time with you." Louis grasps George's shoulders tightly. "I don't care how we spend it."

George's throat closes completely, and time stops.

"Idiot," Harry mutters from behind him, and he shuffles around so that he can be looking at George as well. "That wasn't -- quite -- how we'd planned on telling you that."

George shakes his head. He ducks to look at his own hands, his ridiculous fringe blocking his eyes.

There's a hesitation before anybody else speaks, the air electric. "Sorry, if that's not okay," Louis mumbles. "We did have a better plan."

George coughs.

"You might've broken him." Harry sounds honestly concerned, and he gathers George in his arms. "Look, you don't have to say anything, it's fine. We understand. Just, are you alright?"

George hesitates before he nods, but he does nod.

"Okay." Harry lets out a sigh into his hair. "Okay, as long as you're alright, we're alright."

George is okay. It feels like his skin is too tight, but he's okay.

Harry kisses his head, then, and pulls back so he can look at George. "Can I get you anything? Water, or a sandwich? Blankets? Chocolate? I think we've got chocolate."

George can't really think about anything. Well, --

"Coffee?"

"Of course." Harry sounds amused now. "How many sugars?"

"Lots."

"Good boy." Harry pets George's hair and kisses him again before he slips out of the bed, and out the door.

Sitting across from Louis on the bed, George doesn't know what to say. Or think. Or do.

"It's okay," says Louis suddenly. He's not quite looking at George. "I really didn't -- you can just forget I said it, if it bothers you."

"Doesn't bother me!" George looks up, his eyes huge.

"Oh." Louis doesn't seem to know what to say after that, but he's meeting George's gaze now.

George swallows. "I -- my, I still don't feel..."

"Of course," says Louis softly. He reaches out and then hesitates. "Can I -- hug you, is that --?"

George nods and sort of launches himself into Louis' lap, burying his face into the side of Louis' neck.

Louis hugs George close and rubs his back, his own face pressed against George's shoulder. "Shh, it's alright," he whispers. "I'm sorry I shouted."

"I'm sorry I stopped you," George mumbles back. "It wasn't your fault."

"Don't ever be sorry for stopping me if you can't handle something." Louis squeezes him. "If it's too much for you, it's too much for me. We can try again some other time, if you want."

"I do want to," George insists. "I just, I've felt wrong all day. I have a really bad feeling for tomorrow."

"Your performance was amazing. You've got nothing to worry about." Louis kisses the side of George's neck. "I voted for you, you know."

George smiles a little. "Thank you."

"Of course." Louis pats George's back a few times. "How are you feeling?"

George shrugs.

"Words, please," Louis says patiently.

"Okay."

"You feel okay," Louis repeats. "Will you feel better once you've had coffee?"

George shrugs again.

"Georgie," Louis murmurs. "You really -- I need to know, better, what to do for you after you've had a -- like, a trauma? Like having to red out is, I shouldn't make that happen. And if I do, I have to know what makes you feel better than just 'okay' after."

"It wasn't a _trauma_ ," George says, horrified. "I'm alright now, I'm -- that's it, I'm okay. I don't know what else you want."

Louis carefully moves some of George's fringe away from his eyes and traces his fingertips gently over George's temple. "I want you to be happy and safe and feel happy and safe and -- healthy, and... I want to be better for you."

"You're the best for me," whispers George. "I only feel happy and safe with you. You make me feel good, all the time; I'm the one who needs to be better for _you_. Learn how to not need to say _red_ , or frustrate you."

“But it's good that you said it, George!" _Now_ Louis sounds frustrated. "I don't know how to explain that better than just saying 'it was really good you said red.'"

"But it's made you feel like you did something wrong," George says. He pushes his face back against Louis' neck. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault."

"I've done all of this wrong," Louis answers, and rubs George's back. "For you _and_ for Harry."

George has to shake his head vehemently at that. He only has to look at Harry and Louis' relationship to see they're perfect for each other. Louis hasn't done any of it wrong if they're like this now.

"No, I have." Louis kisses George's head. "I don't have any idea what I'm doing, really, and I -- I should've talked to someone a long time ago, about what people are supposed to do in relationships like this. I'm stupid, and stubborn, and I don't like needing help from other people. But it's not just about me, it's me, and Harry, and you. And I need to make sure I'm doing right by you."

George wants to growl again but Louis didn't take kindly to it the first time. "You _are_. I _asked_ for it."

"You're right, you did," Louis agrees. "I'm not talking about just now, I'm talking about all the time. I'm talking about _everything_."

George does growl then, and he flops over to push his face into the pillows. This isn't going right at _all_ , and tomorrow he's being sent home, and he's going to lose everything because he's never, never good enough.

The bed dips down on his other side and what feels like an elbow nudges at George's ribs. "Here, coffee," says Harry. "What's happened?"

"I'm really shit at this," Louis mutters, and George wants to scream.

"No, you're not -- _really_ shit," Harry says. "You're a bit shit, yeah." Long bones settle along George's side and Harry's arm drapes around his waist, just above George's tailbone and his still-quite-sore bum. "Georgie... I made you coffee. D'you want it?"

"Yes," mumbles George. He always wants coffee; that's barely a question. "Please. Did you put sugar in?"

"Yes, a lot," Harry says. "Because that's what you wanted." He presses a slight kiss to George's shoulder.

He wants to say _see, I know what I want, and I can tell people_ out loud, but he won't, because he thinks it would probably make Louis upset, and even if Louis' making _him_ upset right now he never wants to be the cause of Louis being angry, or sad.

He sort of doesn't want to look at Louis at all right now, because that will mean talking, and George doesn't want to talk. He can barely get his mouth to work as it is, although that's probably because he isn't sure he's ever really tried to talk while scowling so hard before.

Coffee, though. He really wants coffee and he can't have coffee while he's lying down, so he sits up and takes the cup from Harry, holding it close and breathing in. George sighs. It smells like all the good things in the world.

"Come here," Harry urges softly, and George doesn't mind Harry at all because Harry doesn't want to talk, so he cuddles under Harry's arm and tight against his side.

He has coffee and Harry and his arse still hurts but that's alright, and nobody's making him talk anymore. This is good. He likes this.

Louis clears his throat and George braces himself for more things he doesn't want to hear. "Can I hug you again?" asks Louis quietly. "Nothing else, just. Can I?"

George takes three sips of coffee before he nods.

Louis shifts closer hesitantly, like he's waiting for George to take it back, and then presses up against George's other side, his arm overlapping Harry's on George's back.

This time it's Louis who buries his face in the curve of George's neck, and George can feel the flutter of his eyelashes and the warm puffs of his breath and it's just too -- _soft_ , really, for Louis.

Louis isn't soft. He's sharp edges and firmness and obviously George doesn't dislike that but he's never experienced Louis being this... soft is really the only word for it. Cuddly and warm and huggable.

He isn't sure he'd like it, normally, but he does like it well enough right now.

One of the things he likes most about being with Harry and Louis is how different they are. Harry is floppy and soft and he gives George cuddles and affection and hugs and it's not like Louis doesn't make it clear he's fond of George, and he'd said -- he'd _said_ , but he's firm where Harry is soft and George likes it that way.

All the same, George appreciates the cuddle. He still feels a bit like there are bees buzzing inside his chest, swarming angrily, but it's getting better.

He's always loved being cuddled and Harry and Louis are best at it. He can still use his arms, to drink his coffee, but he's got a head on each shoulder and he's being held securely. It's amazing.

They always cuddle him after, but usually he feels secure even before they begin -- this is different, somehow.

It's different when it's not through a post-orgasmic haze. Clearer. He can feel himself being cuddled rather than just noticing it as he comes out of a faint or whatever.

And it's -- well, it's nice to know they even still want to cuddle him, after he's failed them so miserably. Neither of them even got to get off at all.

They've both gone soft and _he's_ gone soft and really, this night's been a mess. He's such a mess.

George snuffles a little despondently and tries to hide it behind his coffee cup.

"Hey, babe, you're alright," whispers Louis. He presses a kiss to George's hair. "I keep shouting and I shouldn't."

"You didn't shout at me until I shouted at you first."

"It doesn't matter, George, when we're playing you're allowed to shout at me if you need." Louis sounds impossibly sad. "You're allowed to shout at me anytime, really. I probably need it."

"You don't." George doesn't think he should shout at Louis, ever. It just makes them both upset. "I don't want to shout at you. I don't like it."

"I don't like it either," Louis admits. "But I like you." He pauses. "That's... why I think we need to set up, beforehand, like a -- a semi-permanent list of things you like and don't like?" He glances up at George. "Can we do that, please?"

It sounds better when Louis isn't being so demanding about it, which is strange as George generally quite likes when Louis is demanding. He makes an uncertain noise. "Will it take very long?" he asks.

Louis shrugs. "Depends on how much you like, I guess."

"But I like a lot of things. Most things, when you do them." George looks up at Louis for the first time in a while.

Louis smiles and kisses George's shoulder. "Good. But I need to know stuff you don't like, too, George, because I don't want to hurt you and I _don't mean the stuff you ask for if it ends up physically hurting_ , I meant I don't want you like -- shit, I dunno, uncomfortable and scared or whatever. That's not what this is about."

"I always feel safe with you," reasons George. "Even if -- if I don't like something, which you almost never do, I still feel safe."

Harry nuzzles at the side of George's neck. "Is that really true? What about -- that time on the sofa, you had to say yellow. Why?"

George doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't think they'll accept that this time, though, so he swallows and closes his eyes. "I don't -- I don't like when you're behind me, and I can't see you, and you're talking about me instead of to me. I don't like that? Does that count as a -- thing?"

"That's a thing," Harry and Louis both say at once.

"I don't like when Louis looks at my _ears_ during sex," Harry says. "If that counts as a thing, anything you've got does."

George snorts out a laugh. It feels a bit odd in his throat. "Can't see your ears anyway, under your hair."

"That's the point," Harry says grimly.

"Okay," says George, a bit slower than he normally would because that's weird, but then, his things are weird, too.

Louis tickles his fingers lightly over George's ribs. "And I don't like getting my hair pulled. What else don't you like?"

George is sort of blanking on things. He really does like so much of what they do for him. "I don't," he starts before going quiet again. He thinks this might make them upset. "I don't really like the, the ring, the thing you used on me?"

Louis makes a muffled noise. "Okay. Erm, how much did you not like it? Because I really like that."

"And it's useful for learning to like, come on command," Harry adds.

"I think I just, not when you're both -- that was really, it hurt, and not in a good way?" George shrugs a bit. "It was a lot. All at once. And I usually like that but not when I can't, when it's all. Trapped."

Harry nuzzles behind George's ear. "What else feels like being trapped?" He tightens his arms around George's waist. "'Cause you like being held down and stuff."

"I do. I like the pressure, but when it's the ring it's like, like. I like it when you touch me. I don't like it when you don't touch me." George frowns. "I don't know how else to explain it."

Louis gives George a little smile and rubs George's arm vigorously. "Alright. That's fair. What about like -- if we're touching you, and I wanted to tie down your wrists like you saw me do Harry."

"I can do that. As long as you're still touching me." George leans his head down onto Louis' shoulder. "Just, you have to keep touching me."

"Alright," Louis murmurs. "Can you tell me why you had to change positions tonight? Because we were touching you, then."

"But you kept talking about me. To each other. And I couldn't see you." George's breath speeds up just thinking about it. "I couldn't see either of you and you kept talking about me."

"We talk about you a lot, though."

"But like I wasn't a _person_ ," George protests, and the bees are back, and he doesn't want any more coffee (which might be a first). He pushes their arms away. "I am a person, I'm not -- just because I like getting fucked and that doesn't mean I'm not thinking and stuff. I'm not just, just, just holes to be used."

"We know that," Harry says. He doesn't touch George again but his hands are suspended in midair like he wants to. "I never thought of it like that. I like it when Lou talks to other people about me. You're different from me, though. We keep forgetting that, don't we?"

George shrugs one shoulder. He mostly just wants a shirt right now. "Most people do."

"No," Louis mutters, but he doesn't seem aware of it, just looking at George. "We won't talk about you anymore," he says softly. "Not if you don't like it."

"I like when you talk about me if you miss me or whatever, just not like -- 'oi, he's so tight, you get next ride' or whatever." George clears his throat. "Can I have a shirt, please?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry says immediately. "One of yours or one of ours?"

George shakes his head and draws his knees up to his chest. "Doesn't matter. Just cold."

Harry slips off the bed and returns faster than George would've thought possible with a shirt that's obviously his, soft and worn, big enough that when George puts it on the collar nearly droops off his shoulder.

"Do you want us to put clothes on too?" asks Louis. "Because we can. If that's what you need to be comfortable."

George shakes his head. "No, not if you don't want. I know Harry doesn't like being dressed much anyway."

"I can still put on clothes if you need me to," Harry says gently. "Whatever you need."

George shakes his head and gives Harry a small, but genuine, smile. "No, it's okay."

"Okay, if you're sure." Harry smiles back at him. It seems pleased and George feels good for giving it to him.

"We won't talk about you like that anymore, Georgie," Louis cuts in from the other side. He hesitates, and then asks, "What if I were to talk about Harry to you? Do you not like that, either?"

George blinks and looks thoughtfully at Harry. "I don't know. I think that'd be alright, but if that's not fair, then -- "

You like different things from me," Harry says. "It doesn't make either of us weird. Just different. I really like it when Louis talks about me to our third. It turns me on. It doesn't turn you on, so we won't do it to you. Simple as that."

George nods and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Alright."

Louis tilts his head. "What about like -- well, you know I fucking love getting your cock out in public and I don't think you like it much. What about when we ask you to give us a show on Skype? Is that alright?"

"Yes." George nods again. "I like -- when you're paying attention to me?" he clarifies. "I don't like it when you're not. Paying attention to me." He rubs his arms. That's very selfish. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, I like paying attention to you." Louis gives him a little scrunch-nosed smile. "So it's not that you hate getting looked at, right?"

"Only by strangers," George confirms.

Harry takes a long breath in and out before he says, "But we were strangers the first time, and you took us home."

George pauses to gather his wits about him. This is probably going to be hard to explain. "I already knew you wanted to have sex with me."

"Okay," Harry says slowly. "And that was alright?"

"It's alright if I know you're going to -- I knew you thought I was attractive, in a sex way. I don't know that about just, strangers." George sighs. "I don't know how to say it right. I knew you wanted to look at me."

Harry nods slowly. "Alright. That sort of makes sense. I have to tell you, I can't imagine anyone not wanting to look at you, though."

"You'd be surprised." George snorts in not-quite amusement.

Louis reaches up to scrub his fingers lightly through George's hair. "I would be surprised. You're really beautiful, George."

"Thank you," says George automatically. "I'm not, to everyone, though. I mean, girls call in on Xtra to tell me sometimes, or we get fanmail, but it's still not -- You know, then there are people who don't think so."

Harry shrugs. "That's true universally. But it doesn't matter. I like my penis-nose. It looks good on my face, and everybody else can fuck themselves. I get to fuck you guys."

George can feel Louis laughing against his side. He's shifted closer again, and George leans into his body heat. "So crass, Harry. What would your mother say?"

"That you're a lovely boy," Harry says, and preens a bit. George rolls his eyes.

"She would, though. Your mother would _congratulate_ you." Louis kisses George's head, so quickly George thinks he might have imagined it. "You're a catch," he tells George. "We're damn lucky to have you."

George looks at his knees and picks at a loose thread in the cuff of Harry's shirt. "You didn't even get to get off. I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey." Harry tips George's chin up. "Remember what Louis said? We don't bring you here for sex. We bring you here to spend time with you, and sometimes in that time we have sex. We don't have to. Promise, we're not just interested in you because you're an excellent fuck."

George snorts a little at that, but feels himself blushing pink to the tips of his ears.

"We really, really like you," Louis says from his other side. "For loads of reasons. Not just your arse. You're funny, and you're very sweet, and you laugh at Harry's stupid jokes."

"I do," George admits. "I think they're funny."

"They _are_ funny," insists Harry. "I'm hilarious. Louis just has an awful sense of humor."

"'Scuse you," Louis sniffs. He shakes his head, then turns back to George with soft eyes. "George, I meant what I said. You're here because -- because we, I, I, we... love you."

"We do," Harry confirms, his hand gentle on George's back. George doesn't know where to look, so he just looks down. "And it's alright, if you don't want to say it back, or if you're not ready to, anything. But you should know. We love you."

George wants to say it back.

He does.

He really does, and it would be true.

But Harry and Louis are like -- they're HarryAndLouis. They're LouisAndHarry.

He's just George.

They have each other, and they're always going to have each other, and he's... Not always going to have them. It's something he's known since this started and it hasn't changed. They're going on tour most of next year, and they'll forget about him. He won't hold it against them, but in the end -- in the end, they'll be Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, from One Direction, touring the world, and he'll still be just George.

"What are you thinking, Georgie?" Harry asks softly. "Are you alright? I know this has been sort of -- you've had a big night and it hasn't gone to plan, basically."

"I'm... alright," George says slowly. It feels like his words are covered in syrup, but he's not floating at all. "I don't know what to say, I guess."

Louis looks a little put out, but he at least attempts a small smile. "That's alright. We're just weird."

"No, it's not that." George rubs through his hair. He doesn't want Louis to think he _minds_ , that they've said it or anything. "It's just a lot for my head," he whispers. He feels a bit helpless.

Harry kisses George's temple. "That's alright. That's fine. D'you just want to sleep?"

He is quite tired. He doesn't like sleeping so much when he's here, knowing it could be the last time. "No, I'm alright."

Harry runs one knuckle up and down George's arm lightly. "Alright. What do you want to do?"

"I want to get you guys off so you're not upset with me," George says. "I -- not just for that reason."

"No," Louis says, and his voice is gentle but it still hurts. "George, not tonight, okay?"

"But I want to. Please? I like making you feel good instead of bad." George tries his best pleading face.

Louis leans in and kisses the end of George's nose. "No."

"Don't you want me, though?" George uses the only move he's got left, biting his lip and looking up at Louis through his eyelashes. "I want you."

"George, of course I do, but I'm not going to have sex with you after we've hurt you and you were so upset."

"It'll make me feel better, to make you feel better." George turns to Harry, who shakes his head before George can say anything else.

"No. Sorry, George." He looks genuinely apologetic. "Not when you had to red out. Red means stop, not stop-for-a-little-bit."

George scowls a bit and pulls at the loose thread until it snaps. He winds it around his finger tightly enough that the tip goes numb and purple.

"We just want you happy and safe, George." Louis rubs his back again and then hugs him from the side. "You have your limits, and we have ours."

George keeps frowning and bends his finger, watching the indented line of thread whiten.

"Hey." Harry takes George's hand and carefully unwinds the string. "Can you look at me, please?"

George glances over through his fringe.

"Are you happy?" Harry asks, his eyes searching George's. "Really, honestly happy with us?"

George nods immediately and enthusiastically.

"Always?" Harry pushes. "Making us happy makes you happy?"

George nods again. "Yeah, really. Like, other than what I said, when you talk about me like I'm not there, yeah."

"Making you happy makes us happy," Harry tells him. "Telling you how gorgeous you are makes us happy. Taking care of you, that makes us happy."

Harry leans in and very gently kisses George's lips. "Taking care of you means not taking advantage when you're hurting. I'm really, really glad you said red when you needed. And now I'm saying it back, okay?"

George swallows and then, very slowly, he nods. "Okay," he whispers. "Yeah, okay."

Louis kisses the back of George's head. "Let's watch a film. And cuddle, I want to cuddle."

"Yeah, let's," Harry agrees enthusiastically. So enthusiastically he actually bounces on the bed. "How's that sound? We can make popcorn or something. Or heat up some of the leftovers."

George has to laugh softly at how excited Harry seems, scrabbling around like a puppy. "Yeah, alright. But not Grease, Ella just sang it tonight and I'll judge Olivia Newton John."

"How very dare you!" Louis exclaims.

"It's not her fault she's not as good as Ella," Harry agrees, laughing and ducking out of the way as Louis attempts to tackle him.

Louis launches out of the bed and runs after Harry where he's careening out of the room. "George, bring me sweatpants! I'll be in the kitchen, figuring out how to hide Harry's body!"

George nearly collapses in on himself with giggles, but manages to fight his way off the giant bed and steal a pair of Harry's pants before digging into Louis' drawer. He only realizes when he's halfway down the stairs, joggers in hand that he knew without even thinking about it where they'd be.

George bites the inside of his cheek to dampen his grin before he gets to the kitchen and they think he's a lunatic.

Then again, they'd have no room to talk. They're rolling around the kitchen floor when George arrives; first Harry has Louis pinned down and then Louis is sitting astride Harry, grasping his wrists.

"Take it back!" Louis grunts. Harry flails under him.

"Never!" he cries, and surges up against Louis, his entire body holding Louis' legs down.

"Oof." Louis looks up at George. "Help me get rid of this _thing_."

"I am a human being!" exclaims Harry. He scrambles to keep holding Louis down as George makes his way into the room, plopping down beside them.

He settles cross-legged and rests his elbows on his knees. "I think I'll watch, thanks. Like a Roman emperor. Or Hedonismbot."

Louis' twisted so Harry is over his knees now, and is calmly patting Harry's bum even as Harry struggles to get free. "I think I've got him under control now."

George giggles madly, his nose crinkling. "I'd say that looks to be true."

"You're a cruel man, Tomlinson," Harry grumbles as Louis smacks his arse lightly. "I still don't take it back."

"Eh, that's alright. I've got a good view now and that makes up for it."

“It is a good view," George agrees, taking in the sight of Harry all splayed out on Louis' lap. There's never really a time they aren't attractive together.

Louis beams at George. "Did you bring me joggers? My arse is cold on this tile."

"I did, yeah." George picks them up from where he'd dropped them when he sat and offers them to Louis. "Didn't know if you had a color preference."

"No, doesn't matter. Thank you, George."

George sits up a little straighter. "You're welcome." He can do some things right.

Louis kisses George's hand as he takes the trousers from him.

It makes George laugh again, and then harder when Louis attempts to put on his trousers without moving Harry.

"Ow, that's my spleen," Harry moans as Louis' knee bounces. "Or my galbladder or something."

"There's nothing in there, you're just one massive noodle," Louis complains, flopping Harry around. He's got them up past his knees now, at least.

"Ow." Harry sounds pathetic. "George, help me."

George tries his best, reaching over and grabbing Harry's hips to attempt to lift him up. It sort of works, as Louis pulls his trousers up over his thighs.

"Harry, if you're a noodle, then I'm -- I don't know, a smaller noodle. What are those little noodles? They look like rice?"

"I think that's just rice," Louis says.

"It's not," Harry says. "Rice is its own thing."

"Yeah, it's not a pasta," George agrees.

Louis holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I didn't mean to offend the Pasta Lords I'm apparently sleeping with."

"Well, we can't help it, we have to defend what we're made of," Harry says, and he finally rolls off of Louis' legs.

"Thanks, I was starting to lose feeling in my knees," Louis grunts, rubbing his legs. "You're much denser than you look, love."

"It's all starch," Harry sniffs. He stands up, still completely nude, and stretches. His back cracks, and George winces.

"Disgusting," he and Louis mutter in unison. George looks up, pleased and surprised as Harry puts his hands on his hips and sulks.

George shuffles over on his knees and rubs the side of his cheek up against Harry's hip. "'M sorry."

Harry crumbles, his fingers sliding into George's hair. "You're alright, it is a bit gross," he admits. "Habit now, though."

As Harry scratches behind George's ears, George hums a little.

"We should pick out a film," Louis says, peering into the refrigerator. "And food. We've got leftover anything."

George smiles. "I like scary films. But I know Harry doesn't. I'm just putting it out there."

"I like them as well." Louis looks thoughtful. "And he gets very cuddly when he's scared."

Harry sighs. "If I can sit mostly in George's lap, then we can watch The Grudge."

"Yes!" Louis cheers, nudging the refrigerator closed with his hip. "You don't have a problem with that, do you, babe?" he asks George.

George smiles. "No, not at all."

"Good." Louis gestures with a pizza box. "Anyone opposed to this? Heated or not?"

George tugs on the hem of his jumper -- well, Harry's hugely oversized jumper that's dripping off of him -- but shakes his head.

"Good!" Louis kisses Harry's chin as he passes and then George's cheek, padding off to the sitting room.

George holds out the second pair of sweatpants to Harry. "Did you want?"

Harry shakes his head. "No, thank you. You can wear them if you like. Or are -- erm, are you too sore for trousers?" He looks thoroughly abashed. "I'm so sorry, Georgie."

"It's not your fault. No, I think I can wear them." He wriggles a little, and then slowly crouches. "Yes. It's better now." It still twinges a little, but it's faded, and unless he twists wrong he'll be alright.

Harry slouches over to him anyway and wraps his hands around George's waist, thumbs rubbing softly at the crest of George's bum through the oversize jumper. "I'm really sorry, all the same."

“You didn't mean to." George leans up to kiss him, his hands cupping Harry's jaw. "You stopped when I asked you to."

"I know, but I knew it was going too quickly, and I should've just waited, I'm sorry."

"Hey, I knew, too. It's not just your responsibility." George tries for a smile. "Right? I have to, I need to tell you, when it's too much."

Harry kisses George lightly. "Yeah, I guess. I can still be sorry for hurting you, though." He lets one hand cup over George's bum and pat.

"I guess I can't stop you." George sighs and leans against Harry's chest for a moment. "I'm really alright, though."

This time, Harry kisses the top of George's head and leaves his lips there a long moment before mumbling, "Good. Because I love you."

It sends a shiver down George's spine this time, one that feels like it goes all the way to his toes. "I," he begins before faltering. "I know," is what finally comes out of his mouth. "I, I know."

"Good," Harry murmurs. He kisses George's head more firmly. "As long as you know."

He's not so sure about it, really, but he can't -- Harry's a terrible liar. He's really, really awful at it, and he's looking at George as steady as anything.

George nods and bites his lip. "I do know, yeah."

Harry smiles, and his cheeks dimple. "Good. Then let's go watch a film that will give me nightmares."

“Sounds like a laugh." George leans in for one more kiss before he grasps Harry's hand, and pulls him toward Louis' voice, which is loudly complaining about how long they're taking and threatening to eat all the pizza.

George keeps the trousers on to sleep, but shimmies out of the jumper in the middle of the night because he's getting overheated with a Harry blanket on top of him, breathing warm in his neck.

Louis doesn't help much either, plastered against George's back, but he's where he wants to be.

Harry lets George blow him in the shower, and then he jerks George off languidly, murmuring filth in his ear and letting his free hand trace over George's chest and belly and the tops of his thighs all the while.

It's the best way George can think of to start the day. He wishes he could start every day like that, with them. It's a nice thought.

It hurts a bit to sit in Harry's passenger seat, if he's honest. He's _really_ sore.

Harry must see his wince or something because he suddenly looks incredibly guilty, and George cuts him off before he can apologize again. "Will I see you again tonight?" he asks. If they don't get voted off. "Or do you have popstar things?"

"We can see you, yeah. We can't come to the show, but we'll pick you up at the hotel after if you'd like?"

"Yes, please," George says gratefully. He liked last night, making fun of Harry hiding behind shoulders and laughing when he hit them with cushions, but -- if he hurts less -- he'd like to make a go of some sort of sex, at least.

"We'll do that for you, then." Harry reaches over with his free hand to ruffle George's hair, and then leaves his fingers in it the rest of the trip, rubbing circles on George's scalp and laughing whenever he makes a little noise.

The lobby's deserved when he gets there, which is a bit odd, actually. Usually, Ella would be down there by now waiting for him, but he guesses she must still be nervous. He doesn't know what she thinks she's got to be nervous about -- she's one of the best singers left in the whole competition, and everyone knows she'll place first or second.

All the same, it means that George can take the opportunity to lean across the controls and kiss Harry goodbye. He's glad for that, at least.

"I'll see you tonight, sweetheart," Harry says to him, his eyes bright and soft. "We'll try and catch the show."

George smiles and bites his lip. "Thank you. I'll see you tonight. I'll ring you after Xtra."

"Good, yeah, I'll be waiting," says Harry amiably. "Tell your Js and Ella I wish them luck."

George beams at that. "I will, but it's not like Ella needs the luck." He kisses Harry again. "I'll see you later."

"See you," Harry replies, and when George has got out of the car, halfway into the hotel, he looks back and sees Harry's still watching him.

George gives him a little wave, and Harry waves back before driving away.

The day passes in a rush like it always does on results-show days. Everyone's nervous and running around, shouting, sometimes crying. George tries to keep away from it because it's too stressful to handle when he's trying to keep up with his own emotions, let alone everyone else's.

He does find Ella, though, sitting on the green room sofa with her shoes tucked next to her and only one earbud in, staring around the room blankly like she's trying to memorize everyone.

"Hi," he greets gently as he sits beside her, moving her shoes out of the way. "I missed you this morning."

"Oh, hi." Ella sounds -- different. "Did you have a good night?"

"No," George says honestly. "But that's okay. You look like you didn't, either?"

"I just woke up with a bad feeling," Ella says.

George frowns, and wraps his arm around her shoulders. "What sort of bad feeling? Are you ill?"

Ella shakes her head. "I think I'm going home. I know I say that every week, but I really do."

"You're joking," George responds, aghast. "You're the best one left! And you had a brilliant performance last night. _And_ everyone loves you."

Ella heaves a sigh. She doesn't sound like she believes him at all, which is stupid, because he's right. Everyone _does_ love her. Adele and Simon Cowell and all.

George kisses Ella's cheek. "You're brilliant, Ella Bear. And I'll miss you after we go."

"Shut up, you're not," Ella mutters, but she leans her head on his shoulder. "I'm just so nervous. I wasn't happy with my performance."

"I was!" George assures her. "I thought you were great."

"You always do," sighs Ella, closing her eyes. "Because you're a sweetheart. If you were the only one voting, I wouldn't be so nervous."

George grins at her. "If I were voting, this show would have gone rather differently."

"I thought it might." Ella's not quite smiling, but she does attempt one, her lips twitching up before back down in a definite frown.

George pokes at her ribs. "Cheer up, missus."

"Oi, I'm not your missus." Ella smacks at his hand. "Don't you get fresh with me, Rylan will murder you."

“If you're my missus, he has no rights to murder me," George points out.

"Do you think that'll stop him?" Ella raises her eyebrows. "You clearly don't know him very well."

"Not as well as he'd like, no," George admits.

Ella does laugh, then, but she cuts herself off and gives George an accusing look.

"I like cheering you up." George smiles at her and kisses her cheek again. "Come on, it's nearly time to go up for zero hour."

"Oh, great." Ella groans and seems to go a shade paler. "I can't get voted off if I hide back here, right?"

"I don't think it works that way unless you're Lucy," George says grimly, and Ella smacks his shoulder quite hard.

"That was rude," she says firmly, getting to her feet and slipping her shoes on. They give her another good inch or so of height, which she doesn't need as the way she's looking at him is intimidating already.

George shrugs sheepishly.

Ella heaves a sigh and helps George to stand, kissing his shoulder apologetically. "Come on. Time to face the music," she says in a poor impression of the X Factor man's voice.

"That was awful," George says. "That was worse than when I do Gary Barlow. _Impressions_ ," he adds fiercely when Ella snorts and starts to laugh.

"I'd like to hear you say that louder," Ella mutters, but she's smiling now and that's all that really matters to George.

The group song goes well enough, although it always sounds out of tune to George and he isn't sure why. He's pretty sure it's not him.

He hates this part, though, after the group song and before the results, where it's just waiting and thinking and being nervous. He has to hang off Jaymi's arm for nearly twenty minutes and take deep calming breaths before he feels like he can stand properly.

 

They all know that the bottom two will be Union J versus Rylan. It's just a thing everyone knows; the viewers, the fans, George, Ella, Rylan, Dermot, everyone. Probably Jesus knows.

Which is why George nearly falls over when they're called _first_. Through to next week, and  
"What?" he gasps, jumping onto the first body he sees, which is Louis Walsh. "What -- who?"

Louis is crowing happily and George is glad he's managing complete sentences because George definitely isn't. He wants to hug the world, everyone who voted for them and even the people who didn't because this week, it's enough.

He does hug Ella, though, on his way to the other side of the stage because they _always_ hug each other first when they get through and even though they'll hug again in a minute when Ella's called, he can see how tense her shoulders are.

It won't be too long now, not with how few they are. Except... Ella isn't the second person called. Or the third.

And then she's not the fourth, either.

George can't -- quite think. Because that's James and Ella onstage, and --

He turns to Josh and pulls at his sleeve. "Did they go backwards today? Are we out?"

Josh has gone pale and shakes his head in a twitch. "That can't be right," he whispers, his eyes locked on the stage where -- impossibly -- Dermot is talking, like James and Ella are the actual bottom two this week.

"It will be fine, the judges love them," George babbles. "Like they can't go home. They're not going home, we're going home. Or Rylan is."

He looks over at Rylan, who is sort of clutching at his face, and if this is real, which it's not, Rylan's losing one of his favorite people either way.

"No, no, no," George mutters, and shakes his head on Josh's shoulder as they're all swept off-stage for the sing-off. _The sing-off_. They're going _through_ with this? There's no emergency save for both or or or or a recount or or those, what were they called, the thing that ruined America for a bit, he learnt in history, hanging chads?

Josh keeps his arm around George all the way to the seats in the back which is good because George is almost positive he can't stand on his own. Not when this is actually happening and he could lose her he can't _lose Ella_ when she's the only thing keeping him sane.

"I know, George." Josh sounds tense. "We all can't lose Ella. _England_ can't lose Ella."

George covers his mouth with his hands. He feels a little like he's going to be sick and a little like he's going to scream.

Josh sits and pats the seat beside his. "C'mon, George, stay close, yeah? I might actually want a cuddle; god."

And George is never one to reject a cuddle, not when he needs one as well, and Jaymi's getting a cuddle from Christopher, which he doesn't look thrilled about, and Josh looks all solid and worried and soft like he never is around the edges. 

He takes the seat next to Josh's and presses his face against Josh's shoulder, breathing in and then out steadily. Josh smells like pine and hairspray, and it's easier to breathe him in than it is to breathe in the scent of worry and sweat in the rest of the room.

Josh's shoulder shudders a bit and when George glances up, Josh's eyes are all red and teary.

"She can't go, right?" Josh whispers. He adores Ella, they all do, and they've been talking more lately. Ella makes Josh smile. Josh never smiles. "Right?"

George gurgles a choked sort of noise and buries his face in Josh's shoulder because he can't even think about it. He can't be here without Ella.

James is singing on the monitor. George doesn't even know if he's first up or if Ella's already performed but it doesn't matter. How is anything supposed to matter if Ella could go home?

"Judging is going to come down to Louis, I think," Josh mutters. "Louis will pick Ella, won't he? He will? Louis doesn't like _choosing_ , though."

"He has to pick Ella. He has to." George can't feel bad, even though James is really nice, because George would send James home a thousand times to save Ella. A million times.

Josh just nods and swipes his hand over his eyebrows, sniffing once.

The judges are voting now. The camera keeps panning to Ella, beautiful and dressed up with her hair done and she looks perfect, she _is_ perfect. She should _win_ , George thinks frantically.

She's _supposed_ to win. Everyone's known it since her first audition.

He makes the mistake of glancing at Chris, whose contorted look of concern is so fake that George has half a mind to slug him.

"Gary's going to take it to deadlock, he won't want that decision on him," whispers Josh, and he's proven right in the next minute. Deadlock. It's in the hands of the public now.

"Come on, Ella," George whispers, and there are tears on his face and his head hurts and he's shaking his head. "Come on, gamblers of London, bring Ella home for the money; anything."

Dermot looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, and George knows it's genuine, because Dermot _likes_ them. "The act who received the fewest votes from the public and who'll be leaving the competition tonight is..." No, no, no, no, no, please, nonononono _no_ \-- "Ella."

George can't breathe.

He can't breathe, he actually can't breathe and he can't think and he has to cover his face and he's falling, he can't feel his legs or his arms or his brain, he's just _numb_.

He just keeps shaking his head no. Because... _no_. This isn't happening. It _can't_ be happening. It isn't.

He's decided: It's not happening. Nothing about this can be happening. It's not right and it's not fair and it's not real, so it's not. He isn't. She's not.

Someone warm and soft and good-smelling is wrapping around his arms and trying to pull him up and soothe him at the same time.

"George, it's okay," whispers Caroline Flack. "You have to get it together; I'm sorry."

Get it together? He can't get it together. There's nothing to get together anymore, he's nothing now, he can't do anything or be anything without Ella.

George shakes his head and scrubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. Caroline wraps her arms around him and tucks her chin over George's shoulder and rubs his back.

"You are like Harry," she decides. "You care too much about people. Not in a bad way."

"She can't be gone she can't go." George's voice doesn't even sound like him, croaky and made of rust. "It's a joke right it's a bad joke a really bad joke?"

He feels Caroline shake her head sadly. "I wish."

His head shakes again of its own accord and He has to clutch at Caroline's back, or he thinks he'll keel over. She's lying. Of course it's a joke. Has to be. Ella can't _go_. He leaves before Ella and she wins, and that's how it goes.

"I've got him, Cazza."

Ella. She's still here. Because she isn't leaving; she's not.

He's making that high pitched noise he hates. It only happens when he's weak and when he can't handle himself. It makes him sick. He feels sick full stop right now.

Caroline lets him go and Ella gathers him up and kisses the side of his face. "George, stop. It's alright. I'm fine. I will be fine. And you are, too, I promise."

"Because you're not going," George whispers. He presses his face against the side of her neck, and he thinks -- He's crying. He's getting tears everywhere. "You're not going, so I'll be alright."

Ella rubs his back. "I am going, though. But you aren't! And I'm _so_ pleased for you, and so proud. I want you to win."

" _I -- can't -- do -- this -- without you_ ," George gasps. He feels like he's falling again, except he's got both his feet on the ground.

"George." Ella's voice is sharp and she grips his arms so tight that it snaps him to himself a bit and he gasps, staring at her. " _You have to stop now_. I'm fine, and you're fine, and we both have to do Xtra, alright? It's okay. Everything is okay."

Nothing's okay. George feels a little like nothing's ever going to be okay again, but if Ella needs him to pretend it will be for a while then he thinks he can do that for her. He can try, anyway.

He takes a deep breath and nods, blinking twice before he can look her in the eye.

Her eyes are a bit red-lined, but she does look like she's alright.

She smiles at him. "See? You're alright. I'm alright. We're alright, aren't we?"

George's face pinches and he shakes his head -- then nods, because it's what Ella wants him to do.

"You're going to be fine." Ella tucks George's fringe back from his face. "Let's go do Xtra, alright, monkey?"

George sniffs and nods, but he grabs Ella's hand and holds it tightly.

"Come on," she urges, her voice soft, and she doesn't stop holding his hand the whole way there.

Xtra goes by in a blur. George can't really -- can't focus, on anything, only answers direct questions because he has to and even then he doesn't know if he's making any sense.

He knows he probably looks like a wounded kitten whenever he isn't speaking. He just doesn't feel cheerful enough to muster even a fake smile.

This is so much worse than going home himself would be. He was ready for that, well, almost. He'd _prepared_ for that. This, this is all wrong. This isn't supposed to happen.

He feels like all of his insides are upside-down.

Xtra ends at some point. He wasn't paying attention. It seems strange that everyone else can just... keep going.

George stumbles off to a quiet corner and pulls his mobile out of his pocket.

 _george i'm so sorry_ is the first text from Harry (and Louis, probably). 

Then --

_What can we do? .xx_

_Are you alright?_

_You look so upset! .xxxxxxxxxx_

He doesn't really know what to say. How can he explain what's happening in a _text_? He can barely make words for himself, let alone other people.

While he's thinking, the phone buzzes in his hands.

_Do you still want to come tonight ?_

He can't. He can't leave now, he can't leave Ella because if he doesn't stay with her then she'll go, she'll be gone by the time he gets back and he can't do that. He can't.

_I'm staying with Ella.... sorry :( X_

The response comes right away. _Do what you need.. we love you .x_

He feels like crying again. He thinks he might already be, folded up in this corner crying over everything. Pathetic. They understand, he can't go with them even though he wants to spend all the time there he can. He always thought he spends so much time with Ella that he'd be alright if he went home first, because he'll have had all the Ella he needs, but he was wrong.

As soon as Ella is done talking to her family, George rushes over and wraps his arms around her waist and pushes his face into the back of her neck. "Don't leave."

She sets her hands on top of his and sighs. "I have to, George. This is how it works. I've got to go."

"Not fair," George mutters darkly. "You deserve to stay. You deserve to win. There are people here who _don't_ and it's not -- not fair."

"I got the least amount of votes. It was down to the public vote and I lost, Monkey. Simple as that." She rubs her hands over George's forearms. "I've had a good go of it."

"But I don't want you to go." George nuzzles her hair. "I'm part of the public."

Ella laughs. George can't imagine not hearing that every day. "Like I said before, if yours was the only vote that counted, I'd be less worried."

George tightens his arms around her waist. "I'm not letting you leave me until they tear you away."

She leans her head back onto George's shoulder, sighing. "George, you can do this without me. You really can. I promise you can. You did before you met me and you will now."

George scowls even though she can't see. "I _can_ , but I don't _want_ to."

"Well, Mr. Diva, you have to!" Ella squeezes his wrists.

"Not if you just stay anyway." George knows he's being unreasonable. He just also doesn't care. "Why can't you just stay?"

Ella just shakes her head, but George keeps it up until they get all the way to her hotel room back at the Corinthia and she lugs her suitcase out of the closet.

"Can't you just hide in my room?" George asks, carefully putting one of Ella's shirts into a suitcase. He's deliberately going as slow as he can. Maybe if they never finish packing, she never has to leave. "Jaymi won't mind. You know he won't."

"I think security would mind," Ella says. "And anyway, if I were to hide out, I'd just stay in Rylan's old bed."

"Nobody would mind," George grumbles. "You could ask anyone and they'd let you stay with them. “You can't _go_ ," he repeats. "Please, you can't go."

Ella turns and looks at George with soft, wide eyes. She looks younger without her makeup and false eyelashes. "I have to, George. It's my turn."

"It shouldn't have been. You weren't supposed to go before me. You aren't supposed to go at all; you're supposed to win." George feels like he's going to start crying again, and his eyes still hurt from the first few times. "You can't leave."

"Georgie. Please don't cry, I hate when you cry." Ella comes around the side of the bed and wraps her arms around George, squeezing him tight. "Sometimes things don't happen how they should."

"I can't do this without you, I really can't." George closes his eyes tight. "You're -- I can't. You have to stay."

"George, listen to me." Ella sounds very solemn, but not sad. "You were stronger than I've ever been when you got here. And you aren't anymore, and that has to change. Not for me, but if you don't want to just do it for your damn self, then you can think it's for me. You have been through more than being a contestant on the X Factor."

"I _need_ you." George's voice goes quiet and he can't look at her. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You're supposed to be _George_. That's all. That's why your fans love you. That's why Harry and Louis love you. It's why the lads love you." She's quiet. "It's why _I_ love you."

He's pretty sure he's crying again. "I love you too. You're my best friend and I don't want you to leave. I've never really had a you before."

Ella pets through George's hair. "You're not going to lose _me_ just because I lost the show."

"But you won't be here with me," George says sadly, resting his head on her shoulder. "Who am I going to talk to about -- about _anything_ , or go to for a cuddle, or, I don't have anyone with hair long enough to braid anymore."

"You can plait the dancers' hair, probably, you weirdo," Ella laughs. "And you can talk to Jaymi and JJ and Rylan and -- probably Josh, now there's so few of you left. And you can ring me whenever you like."

"It's not going to be the same without you." George turns a little so that he can hug her properly, his wet face against her shoulder. "You know it's not. You're my Ella."

"And you're my George Monkey," Ella promises him. She pauses and ruffles her fingers lightly through his hair. "Thank you for staying with me tonight instead of going with your boys."

"You need me more." George is certain of that. He -- loves Harry and Louis, but he needs to be with Ella right now and he knows they understand. "This is the last time I'll be able to see you for a long while."

"Awww, George. We can sneak out and meet up for clandestine chocolate pastries and coffee." Ella nudges at his cheekbone with her nose to try at making him smile.

You won't jump on my head at eight in the morning." George's lips twitch against his will. "Or pinch me until I get up."

"No. And you won't wake me with awkward talks about your semen."

George actually does have to laugh at that, and Ella is still nuzzling at his cheek so he nuzzles her back, nose drawing little circles against her cheek. And then they're nuzzling each other properly, both giggling a little under their breath, and Ella's fingers tighten in his hair.

And then they're kissing.

He's never kissed Ella before. No matter what anyone else thinks; he never has. They've always been just friends and then he had Harry and Louis and she had a thing for Dan and they've never kissed before, not even as a joke.

They're definitely kissing now. And it doesn't feel like a joke at all.

George has kissed girls before, of course he has -- he was sort of Parisa's party trick, really -- but it's never.

Well.

Been Ella.

Ella has really soft lips and she seems as tentative as he is and she's just, generally, it's a really really nice kiss. She's not pushing for anything more but even if she was, George doesn't think he'd mind.

When they stop a moment to breathe, neither of them pulls away. George just rests his forehead on Ella's for a moment and then he's kissing her again, little nibbling kisses dotting over her lips.

It feels right. He wouldn't have thought -- if he'd ever thought about it, which he hasn't, not as something that could actually happen -- that it would feel so easy to do. Ella's nice and soft in his arms and she kisses really pleasantly and George wants to be kissing her, is the thing.

It isn't like kissing Harry at all, or Louis -- for obvious reasons -- but George feels urgent anyway, like if he stops kissing her, something terrible will happen. He feels clear, though, bright and decisive and, and maybe _stronger_. In control of himself, in a good way. More _like_ himself, as they stumble down onto the mattress and he crawls his way over her without stopping the kiss except to giggle against her lips.

Ella giggles back and then for a moment they're just giggling against each other's lips. It's the happiest kiss George thinks he's ever had. He's never had a kiss while he's laughing before.

Ella hums and rubs her hands over his waist. "Just think what a killing we could make right now if we leak a photo. Bookies would go mad."

"We could win so much money, I wouldn't even need to be on this show anymore." George tucks his face against her neck for a moment to hide his laughter.  
He kisses her neck, then, and Ella shivers a bit. George laughs again -- not a giggle; something low and private as he remembers that she's never _done_ this before, she's never been snogged or snogged anyone else.

Ella's hands are still on his waist, but they slide up George's back, over his shirt until she's just cupping the sides of George's neck and looking at him, half-smiling. 

"I don't think I'd've won if I'd put a bet on this," she whispers. "I never really thought, you know."

George laughs softly again and kisses another spot on Ella's neck. "Me, neither. But I can't say I'm not enjoying it."

Ella seems to like it when he does that; she's shivered every time. Maybe she has a sensitive neck. The thought nearly makes _George_ shiver.

"You're good at this," Ella tells him, her fingers stroking through the hair at the nape of George's neck. "Like... Really good."

George doesn't even want to laugh at that, and instead he shifts a little so he can reach a spot further down Ella's neck where goosebumps have dotted her pale skin. "Glad you think so."

"Oh," sighs Ella, and she tips her head back a little. George likes this. It's nothing like he's used to but he _likes_ it. It feels like Ella's letting him have this piece of her that nobody else gets to see, and he hopes she can see that he's giving her something back, something he hasn't given anyone else.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips on the next kiss he gives Ella's neck, and her fingers tighten in the sides of his t-shirt.

He's not going to bite -- even though he thinks about it, because what are lovebites if not a way to give someone a visual reminder that you love them? He doesn't know if Ella would like that, though. She doesn't like the same things he does.

And Ella seems -- soft, like things should be soft.

He keeps it soft, then, just his lips, mostly. Ella has a lovely neck, long and elegant, and George likes having his mouth on it.

Ella draws one of her legs up to bracket along the side of his thigh, her hips twitching just a bit, and George smiles before moving again to kiss her mouth, touching his tongue lightly to her lip.

Her hand is gentle on the side of his face as she returns the kiss, slow and uncertain but that much sweeter for it. Ella's always sweet and she's always perfect.

George relaxes a bit and lets his weight sag down onto her, the fingers of one hand that had been holding him up a bit instead finding a lock of her hair that had escaped its bun and twisting it gently.

He doesn't tug, because that's too harsh, when everything's so soft. He wants it to stay like this, soft and warm and close. Just them. It's just them.

Ella's hand slides up into George's hair and her fingers weave through it, nails scratching a little, and George can't help it -- he groans a little into the kiss, bringing his other hand to her waist.

His thumb tucks up underneath her shirt, and her skin is soft there, too, nice to touch. Her lips part more underneath his and George deepens the kiss, breathing evenly through his nose because Ella's still got her hand in his hair and she's lightly scritching his scalp.

Moving his hand makes the beaded black bracelet around George's wrist twist on his skin and remind him of its presence.

He remembers: He belongs to Harry and Louis. He's only supposed to kiss them. He thinks, though, that this is different, because, because it's Ella. He wants Ella to have everything of him he can give her because she deserves that and more.

He strokes his thumb once over her waist and then moves his hand again so he can use it to prop himself up again, pulling away just enough to be kissing her lightly instead of dark and heavy and heated.

It ends slowly, and he's pretty sure neither of them want it to. He certainly doesn't, because he knows he's not going to be able to do it again, and that makes him sad. It was a really excellent kiss, and if he were allowed, George thinks he wouldn't mind doing it on a regular basis.

He rolls over onto his side but brings Ella with him, tangling their feet together and keeping his arms around her waist so he can tap little kisses against her mouth and nose and beneath each eye until she's giggling and pushing at his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous," she laughs, her mouth gone a darker pink to match the flush high on her cheekbones.

"You're beautiful," he counters. "And you shouldn't be leaving."

“I am, though." Ella sighs and lays her head down onto the pillow. The corners of her mouth are still turned up in a smile. "You know I've got to."

George cuddles her closer and flicks his socked toes against hers. "But I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. But I'll call, all the time. You're not getting rid of me." Ella tucks her head in underneath his chin. "You're stuck with me for good."

George squeezes his arms more tightly around her. "Good. Now stay for a bit, your luggage can wait. Just like, an hour."

Ella sighs again, but she doesn't move. "Just an hour," she agrees, and presses her head against his chest.

Of course they fall asleep and don't even realize it until early the next morning when Jaymi comes in to say good-bye and finds them tangled up under a pile of unpacked jumpers and black knit stockings like a makeshift blanket.

"You're lucky I haven't got Rylan with me," he says loudly enough to startle George from sleep.

Ella sits up and rubs at her eyes. Her hair looks like a puff atop her head and trailing down to the side like a melting ice cream cone. "Oh, is he alright? He was crying so hard last I saw him."

"He feels guilty," Jaymi admits. "I sat up with him for ages. He's still a bit of a mess. He'll want to come say goodbye properly in a bit."

Ella fights her way past the snarled leg of a pair of tights and climbs out of bed.

She finds herself with Jaymi's arms wrapped around her, and as George watches, he murmurs in her ear. Whatever he's saying, it's not meant for George, so instead of trying to listen he tries to clamber his own way out of bed.

"God, your suitcase fell off the bed in the night," he groans. "I'll help you pack again."

"Thanks." Ella touches her hair and frowns. "Oh, god, this'll take ages to fix. I look a mess."

"You look adorable," Jaymi says. "Like those things George is always going on about from Star Trek? The rabbits?"

"Tribbles!" George says delightedly. "Your hair does look like a tribble!"

"I don't want to look like a Star Trek thing!" Ella exclaims, obviously horrified. "I want to look like a human with good hair!"

George pouts a bit and folds a blue jumper. "But you're so fluffy. And tribbles make more of themselves; I want another Ella if this one has to go."

"If the new one has better hair, I'm all for that." Ella tries in vain to make herself more presentable before she gives up and starts folding clothes as well.

"Ella, hold still, let me fix it," Jaymi sighs. He sidles up behind her and starts finger-combing through the snarls. 

A little while later, Josh and JJ peek their heads into the room. Josh's eyes are still a little puffy.

"Busy?" he asks. He sounds rough, like he spent a lot of time crying last night, and George sympathizes. "Or can we come in?"

"Please do come in!" Ella says, and turns her head until it makes the plait Jaymi has going pull and she yelps.

"You've got to hold still!" Jaymi chastises, giving her hair another gentle tug. "You'll mess it up."

"Sorry, sorry." Ella rolls her eyes, but waves the rest of the J's in.

JJ closes the door behind him as Josh shoves his hands in his pockets and crosses into the room, looking over Jaymi's handiwork. "That's lovely," he says.

"Thanks," Jaymi says. "I watched Jamie do it a few weeks ago."

Josh looks shattered, and a little lost. George knows the feeling, and he wishes he knew -- he wants to make it better, but he can't. 

"Can I try?" asks Josh, his eyes flicking in question from Jaymi to Ella and back again.

Ella nods, but squeaks again when it pulls her hair.

"You never learn, do you," Jaymi says flatly.

"I can't help it!" Ella protests, remaining very still as Jaymi transfers the sections of her hair to Josh's hands. "People keep asking me things."

George laughs -- even though the other boys' long faces remind him that Ella is really leaving and he's _so_ sad, deep in his belly. His mobile buzzes in his pocket, though, and he turns away to check the message.

_Are you awake ?_

Louis, then. George has to remember to ask him why he puts spaces before all his punctuation.

 _Yeah sorry X I was with Ella_ , he writes back, and then bites his lips because... he doesn't feel guilty. At all.

Maybe he should, and he sort of feels bad about how not bad about it he feels, which is giving him a bit of a headache, but... he doesn't regret it, not at all.

_How are you today ? We worried about you xx_

He answers honestly. _Gutted still but better X need to talk to u I think_

There's a pause before the next message pings back. _I sort of figured_

George frowns a little, because he's not sure -- how they could've anticipated this happening. He didn't even anticipate this happening. _Busy later? xx_

 _Not too busy for you , love_ comes Louis' answer and that, okay, makes George feel a _little_ bad.

He swallows it down because now's not the time. He can feel bad when Louis is shouting at him, or whatever. He doesn't know.

They make plans to meet around lunchtime, so George can help Ella finish packing and leave for Grimsby.

They all hug before she goes. George extracts a promise that she'll call every day, and text every hour, and Josh goes bright red when Ella kisses him on the cheek. George laughs in his head, but he's careful to keep his face blank.

Once she's gone, George is tired. He just wants to get coffee and sleep and a bath all at the same time.

He doesn't have time, though, to do all three. He barely has time to wash and get the remnants of his makeup off and all the hairspray out.

Harry's message is up on his mobile by the time he finishes drying his hair with one of the towels he fished from the floor.

_Downstairs in the loading dock! .x_

He dresses as quickly as he can and tucks his phone into his pocket. It's cold enough that he grabs one of his beanies before he heads out, securing it over his ears.

He pauses out of habit by Ella's door to let her know that he's leaving before he remembers that it's she who's left.

That brings his mood down more and he texts her as he walks, _Already not the same without u xx_ and sends it, putting his phone away when he sees Harry's car.

Only Harry is inside when George opens the back door, so he shuts it again and gets into the passenger seat.

"Hiya," Harry says cheerfully. "D'you want lunch?"

George shrugs. He's not really hungry but people don't tend to like that when he says so. "Sure, I mean, if you want."

Harry takes one hand off the wheel and rests it on George's thigh, squeezing lightly. "I could eat. I figure maybe you're too sad to be hungry, but you should have something small at least."

George puts his hand on Harry's and smiles. "I could do that," he allows. Something small, he could probably keep down. "Where's Louis?"

"Sleeping off a headache," Harry says. "Dunno what happened, really."

"How do you mean? Is he sick?" George asks with a spike of worry.

"I don't think so, I think he just tired himself out worrying about you," Harry says. "Between what happened Saturday night and then Ella."

George feels, well, he doesn't really know what he feels. Guilty, but also sort of nice. It's nice someone cares so much. "I'm alright, now," he says softly. "Still been better, but I'm. Functioning, which is better than last night."

Harry rubs George's thigh. "Good. I was worried, too. But Ella seemed alright, like she'd be able to cheer you up if you needed."

"She did," George agrees. He wants to say, wants to tell Harry, but he doesn't think that'd be fair without Louis there as well.

Harry smiles at George and turns the car up to a Pret. "I told Louis I'd get him soup, if you don't mind coming in."

"Of course not." George undoes his seat belt and jumps down from the ridiculously high seat of the car. He doesn't know why Harry needs a car this gigantic, even if it's certainly come in handy for some of George's backseat adventures.

He follows Harry inside and wonders whether there are people with cameras lurking inside to post photos of _OMG Harry and that kid George from Union J!!!_ , but since Harry doesn't seem concerned, George isn't either.

There aren't people with cameras inside, or at least, none George can see. In his experience they're not a very quiet lot, so he thinks they're safe.

It's not like Harry is paying him that much attention while they're inside, just in case, but they stand beside each other as Harry orders Louis' beef-and-ale soup and his own Edam salad sandwich. He even pays for George's ham and cheese toastie, and George feels --

It's stupid, maybe, that just being _near_ Harry makes him feel proud, but it does.

He can't really help how he feels. They're just feelings, and they're his, and they happen without his permission. George doesn't think that's strange. All feelings work like that.

But probably not all people feel like giggling just because Harry Styles is standing there, not even looking at him as he texts Louis.

"Alright," Harry announces, pushing his phone into the pocket of his jacket. "He's awake now, at least. Lazy." Despite his words, Harry's affection is obvious in his voice. "Let's go show him you're alright."

George gives Harry a close-lipped smile and takes the bags of their food.

The drive back to Harry's is quiet, though not unpleasantly so. Harry pipes up every so often and George answers back, and it's... nice. It feels normal. It feels like it's not really leading to anything, like this could just be George's life, casual conversations while the smell of toasted ham and cheese wafts up from his lap.

If he hasn't ruined it. Louis was upset after Jaymi.

And he wasn't even collared then. 

George swallows, now more nervous. He's got a collar, he's theirs. He still doesn't regret it, but... he might, if Louis doesn't want him anymore.

"You alright, Georgie?" Harry asks, looking over in concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," George assures him, nodding. He tries to give Harry a nice smile -- those usually help.

"You don't have to, we're not expecting you to have sex with us if you're like, upset or -- or still hurt," Harry says tentatively.

"I'm not! No, my bum's all -- all back to normal, really," George assures him. "And I'm not, like, traumatized, or anything."

Harry exhales. "That's good. I still feel bad."

"I know you do." George pats Harry's leg. "It'll just be something we learned from, yeah? And it's, it's good, that I said red. You said it's good that I said it."

"It was really good you did," Harry agrees. He still looks frowny, though, so George leans over and kisses Harry's cheek.

"Then we're sorted," he whispers. "You stopped when I said to stop. That's what matters."

Harry gives him a half-smile. "I know. But you were walking awfully funny, so let me feel bad for a bit."

"You've felt bad long enough, I think," replies George. "You've had like a whole day to feel bad. That's plenty."

Harry smiles. "If you really say so." He pulls into the drive. "Help me carry things inside?"

“Course I will." George offers one of the bags to Harry as he takes the other, sliding off the seat until his feet hit ground. "I don't think you really need such a big car," he says, out loud this time.

Harry grins lewdly. "But how else could we spread you out on the backseat?"

"Normal sized cars have backseats," George reasons, ducking his head to hide his own grin.

"Not ones that fit your long spaghetti legs." Harry shuts the door and calls, "Lou! We're back!"

"Did you bring me a George?" Louis shouts from what sounds like the sitting room. "If I've been languishing all day and you've brought me Niall, I'll be upset. I deserve a George."

"Oh, I could do an Irish accent," George offers. "I've been listening to Louis Walsh for six weeks, haven't I?"

"Please don't," groans Louis, and then he's peering around the door frame. "I love Nialler, but he's not exactly the best cure for a headache."

George snaps his fingers. "Aw, shucks, you heard me."

"I hear everything," Louis insists, beckoning George impatiently. "Come on, I can't hug myself, can I? Well, I guess I could. I don't want to, anyway, come hug me."

George hesitates, though. He should -- he ought to tell them first, shouldn't he?

Louis looks first sulky, and then concerned. "George?" he asks. "Everything alright? Harry said you were okay."

"Yeah, I'm fine, like physically and everything, just it's just... it's just that I, erm." George twiddles the bracelet around his wrist.

"What's happened?" Louis takes a careful step toward them. "Should we be, like, do you want to sit down?"

"I'm okay." George bites his lip. "I kind of hooked up with Ella last night, though." He twists his face and looks at the floor.

Nobody says anything for long enough that George wants to melt into the floor.

"Oh," says Louis, finally. "That wasn't... exactly what I was expecting."

George's throat works a bit. "I'm sorry."

"Okay." Louis sounds a bit bewildered. "I. Are you." He shakes his head. "Sorry, I just was really not thinking it would be that."

"What were you thinking it would be?" George asks curiously.

"Not that," Louis says emphatically. "Can you tell us what happened? I think _I_ should sit down."

George rubs his hands over his face. "I don't know, I was upset and begging her to stay and just hide out or something, and then she was trying to cheer me up, and then we were kissing."

"Is that all?" asks Harry from beside him. "You didn't -- or _she_ didn't -- Just, was that all?"

George nods. "Yeah, that was it, it was just -- it was really a while."

He's still looking down, so he senses more than sees Harry and Louis exchanging a glance.

"We should eat," decides Harry, nudging the hand George is using to hold the bag. "We can talk over food."

George hesitates. "You want me to stay?"

Harry looks genuinely surprised. "Of course we want you to stay. We always want that."

George swallows and slowly pulls out his chair. "Alright." He pauses. "I don't have to wear a cock ring again, do I?"

"No." That's Louis speaking now, firmly. "Not the ring. We need to figure out what's going on before we talk about punishing you."

George shoulders slump for a moment, but then he shakes his head and looks up. "Even if I get punished, I won't feel bad for it. Ella's my best friend and she needed it, I think. I needed it."

Louis looks at him, his face solemn across from George. "You won't feel bad for it," he repeats.

George shakes his head. He rolls the beads of his collar between his fingertips as Harry silently passes out the paper-wrapped lunches.

Louis just looks back at him for a moment, and then he nods once, sharply. "Good."

George feels his heartbeat pick up through the vein in his neck. "Are you -- like, getting rid of me?"

"Not unless you'd like to be got rid of." Louis pries the lid off of his soup and smells it, his eyes closing. "Excellent work, Harry."

Harry smiles indulgently at Louis and doesn't say a word, like he's the referee monitoring discourse between Louis and George in debate.

"Of course I don't. But you're not -- that's -- good?" George asks. He's so confused. He thought for sure he'd be punished by now.

Maybe it's a trick. He slowly cuts his toastie in two pieces and peels the bread apart, content to play with it rather than eat it, just in case.

"I watched the show, yesterday," Louis says. He swallows a spoonful of soup. "You looked -- worse than I'd ever seen you. I thought we'd never get you back up. And now you're here, and you look almost better than I've ever seen you. Whatever happened between you and Ella, it obviously helped you."

George takes a bit of ham out of one half of his sandwich and moves it to the other half. "But she's gone now. I am gutted, really. But it was nice, like. Different from you guys. You're nice, too!" he adds quickly.

"George," Harry says, and touches George's wrist. "Stop playing with it. Can you eat half at least?"

"I'm nervous," George mutters, but he picks up a half. 

"I've told you before, love, I just want you to be happy." Louis is stirring his soup thoughtfully. "And you're... different, now. You still look sad, but you're up. You're functioning. You're George. You're being George."

George chews on the inside of his cheek as he cuts his toastie into quarters. "I have to, don't I?"

Louis suddenly points at George with his spoon. "There's the difference. You _have_ to now. Why didn't you have to before?"

George shrugs -- there isn't a way to explain it, really. At least not nicely. "Ella is gone and you guys are leaving, aren't you? For almost the whole year."

"Not yet," reasons Louis. "We're not on _tour_ as such until... February, I think. That's months away."

George blinks. "But you're still busy. And then you're leaving, and I'll be alone again."

"You're going to be busy, too. Labels will be fighting each other to get you four." Louis shrugs. "We can figure it out when the time comes. We just know that we want to keep you, and we're willing to do whatever you need us to do if it means we get that."

"But I snogged someone else," George says.

"Is that what you need?" Louis asks him. He's stopped eating his soup, and now he's just looking at George. "To snog other people, when we're not available? Don't say what you think I want to hear," he adds on the end. "Be honest."

George rearranges his toastie triangles on his plate until Harry gives him a hard look and he sighs. He eats one, very slowly, before saying, "I just like cuddles. I need cuddles, that's what I need. Sometimes cuddles go that way."

"Sometimes they do," Louis agrees. "Is that what you need? Cuddles? Because you can have that. You're right, we are gone a lot, and we've got people to cuddle. Only fair that you do, as well."

"But you got angry after Jaymi."

"You got off with Jaymi," Louis points out. "That's a bit different, isn't it? Remember, when we told you we want to be the only people who get to make you come?"

George nods slowly and eats another triangle of his sandwich. "Is that the official rule? On your -- your checklist or whatever that you wanted to do?"

"Is that what you want the official rule to be?" asks Louis, nudging George's foot under the table. "I want you to be happy. If that's what will make you happy, then that's what I want."

"I don't know," George says. "It seems weird to me that you'd be okay with it."

"I want to keep you. I want you to want to be with us." Louis shrugs again. "If keeping you with us means you need to sometimes kiss other people, I'm -- I'm willing to do that for you."

George's stomach twinges. "Are you -- will you two be kissing other people? I mean besides each other? Is that why you're alright with it?"

"Bit different, isn't it?" Louis asks. "We've -- It's really rare for me to not be near Harry. That's just a fact; we're not with you as often as we'd like to be. We don't need to kiss anyone else. You do."

"Don't make it sound like that," George mumbles. "Like I'm some -- cockmonster who can't help it or get through the day without it."

"I didn't mean it like that at all." Louis shakes his head. "I just mean -- you need to be touched. Not in a sexy way, necessarily, but you need to be touched, George. It's just the way you are."

George wants to deny that, but he can't really. Not if he's honest.

"And that's _fine_ ," Louis stresses. "It really is, George. Like I said, I just want you to be happy. You're happiest when people touch you. And I'm happy when you're happiest."

George scrubs his hands through his hair and pushes it out of his face just to avoid -- doing anything else, really, because yeah, it's true, he does really love a cuddle and he likes kissing and he loves sex, and that, but it's not like. He _can do_ without.

He's not a, a whatever it sounds like Louis thinks he is. He can be with just them. It's what he agreed to, being with just them, and now it sounds like maybe, maybe they don't want that anymore.

George fiddles with his bracelet again. He tries to speak nonchalantly, but it comes out as a dry whisper. "D'you want the collar back?"

"No!" Louis exclaims, only it's two voices, and Harry looks sheepish, like he responded without thinking. Louis clears his throat. "No. You're still ours. And you are going to be ours until you don't want to be anymore."

Harry speaks again, nervous -- although of Louis or of George, George doesn't know. "Do you not want to be now? Are you, like... you and Ella?"

“No, no, no." It's George's turn to be insistent. "No, we're not, it wasn't like that. She's -- and I'm -- no. We were just, I wanted her to have. Something."

Harry nods at that, and he rests his hand over George's wrist again, this time sliding his thumb beneath the beads of the collar to rest over George's pulse beating.

"Do you want to be with us?" he asks quietly, keeping his hand on George. "Stay with us?"

"Yeah," George says, open and honest and truthful. "I really -- yeah, I do."

Harry smiles. "That's what we want, too. We just want to call you ours."

George giggles a little at that, and wrinkles his nose.

"Well, and a few other things," Harry allows. "Gorgeous and love and babe, and darling, and sweetheart. I'd like to call you those things as well."

George bites his lip and smiles at Harry. "I do like that a lot. Not 'gorgeous,' but -- 'sweetheart,' yeah, I like that one."

"I think that one's my favorite," Harry muses. "You're sweet, and you've got my heart." He frowns. "God, I haven't always been this much of a sap."

"Yes, you have," Louis says dryly. "As long as I've known you."

He looks at George. "When he found out we'd been to the same concert like a year before our auditions, he talked for three days about fate and reincarnation and shit." Louis gives Harry a despairing smile. "It was cute, but it was really soppy."

"Alright," huffs Harry. "But it _was_ fate, so I don't care. I'll be as soppy as I like."

"You always are, anyway." Louis pats Harry's hand where it lies on the table. "I haven't trained it out of you yet."

"Don't you dare," Harry says.

Louis hums and takes another slurp of soup with a smile curling the edges of his lips. "Of course not," he murmurs.

Harry smiles at that -- just a dimpling of his cheek -- and he leans across the table to kiss Louis' forehead. Louis catches his hair with one hand curling possessively over the back of Harry's head before he can pull back, and he brings Harry's head down to meet lips, kissing him.

George watches them, still rolling the beads of his collar between his fingertips. "I love you guys."

Louis blinks, his eyelashes fluttering a little before he pulls back from Harry to look at George. He opens his mouth and then closes it, apparently speechless.

"You do?" asks Harry. His face has lit up.

"Obviously." George shifts a little.

"We love you, too." Louis is smiling now, and he reaches to grasp George's hand with his own. "We really, really do."

George shakes his head a little. He wants to say _no, you love telling me what to do_ or _no, you love my bum_ or _no, you love each other_ , but fuck it. Ella's gone and if they want to make him feel loved, then he'll let them.

There's the noise of chair legs scraping along the floor and then Louis is holding both of George's hands and looking him straight in the eyes. "I love you," he repeats seriously.

George's eyes flick down. "Okay. Thanks... sorry, it's just like." He makes a face. "Don't go on about it."

"Alright. I just want to make sure you know." Louis strokes his thumbs over the backs of George's hands. "So we're all... On the same page, or whatever. Yeah?"

"Yeah, alright," George says. "You aren't just saying it because you're like, trying to one-up Ella, are you?"

Louis wrinkles his nose. "I'm not that disgusting. No, I'm saying it because otherwise you'd think I didn't. And I don't want you to think that. Honesty's the best policy and all."

George smiles a little at that, lips twitching. Louis leans in quick as a wink and kisses him lightly.

"So. Are you in any state to want to fuck me, maybe?" Louis asks. "You don't have to go under, if you don't want."

"I like going under. It's all floaty, and nice." George turns his hands over to squeeze Louis'.

Louis leans in to kiss him again, still quietly but with intent this time, his teeth biting once into George's lush lower lip.

This, George thinks, is the biggest difference between kissing Ella and kissing Louis, or Harry. Louis isn't afraid to bite, and he _takes_ , and George feels very much like he's being kissed rather than kissing someone.

It's a good different, though, and he _likes_ putting himself entirely in Louis' hands. It's why they work, and why he trusts Louis, and it's what he looks forward to every week almost as much as he does performing onstage.

George doesn't feel as out of control as he has been the past few times they've done this. It hasn't been as long since he's seen them, so it's easier for him to relax and let himself enjoy the kiss, rather than feeling ravenous and horny and desperate.

He can see how Harry would have settled into a pleasantly constant state of this feeling, back when he did. It's very easy with Louis.

There's something about being with Louis -- even just being near him -- that makes George feel like he doesn't have to worry so much because Louis has control of everything. Louis can fix things if they go wrong. Louis is stable and he's firm and he's exactly what George needs.

There's something about being with Louis -- even just being near him -- that makes George feel like he doesn't have to worry so much because Louis has control of everything. Louis can fix things if they go wrong. Louis is stable and he's firm and he's exactly what George needs."Where do you want it?" George asks.

"In my arse," says Louis in return, before humming. "Harry's bed. It's comfortable and I plan to give you the cuddle of your life once we're done."

George giggles at that. "It'll be a hard sell. I've had some good cuddles."

"I'll blow your mind," Louis assures him. "Rock your world. You won't even know what's cuddled you."

George pulls a face. "I'm not sure whether that should make me excited or scared. I guess as long as I couldn't possibly think a moth has cuddled me."

"Not very cuddly, moths," muses Harry. "Have you ever seen pictures of a moth's face close up? They don't look like they'd enjoy hugs."

"No, stop!" George bats at the air like a disgruntled kitten. "I hate their mothy faces, and the rest of their mothy bits."

"Good thing you're not about to fuck one, isn't it?" Louis stands and scoops George up from his chair in one smooth movement.

"Oh, god, my dick just retracted into my body so hard I think I have a _smooth area_ ," George groans, curling into a little ball as best he can whilst being honeymoon-carried up the stairs.

"Easily fixed," Louis laughs, letting George tumble onto the bed, No more moth talk. Just touching."

George wrinkles his nose. "It's too late. I'm scarred. You'll have to start all over now."

"I can do that," murmurs Louis. He lowers himself onto the bed and crawls on top of george, sleek and smooth, like a cat. Prowling, that's the first word George thinks of.

Louis tucks his face into the curve of George's neck and jaw and he kisses there, sucking lightly, not enough to leave a mark -- yet.

There's a promise there that George can hear even though Louis hasn't said anything. He'll get his marks. He wants them now, but he can be patient.

He relaxes a little and tilts his head so Louis can get to more of his skin.

"Good boy," is his reward, the words pressed wet and hot against his skin.

George hums happily and Louis' hands slip under George's t-shirt, stroking lightly at his sides and hips with just the tips of his fingers.

Louis kisses a path up behind George's ear, and then down again, tugging at his collar until he can get his mouth on one of George's collarbones. He sucks harder now, still not hard enough to bruise, but enough that George's hips twitch up against Louis'.

Louis' hand slides down to the front of George's trousers, and he rubs a circle with the heel of his hand.

This punches a sound out of George, throaty and low. Louis laughs against the skin of his throat and then bites, with intent this time.

"Oh, yes," George mumbles, rolling his hips up into Louis' hand.

He can sense that Harry's there, but he's not saying anything, just sitting on the bed. George can feel where it's dipping down, and he flings a hand off to the side because he wants to be touching Harry as well.

His hand lands on denim and he squeezes Harry's thigh.

"Hello," he hears Harry say. It's a wonder he can hear anything with Louis' mouth and Louis' hand and just, _Louis_. Harry's hand touches his wrist and strokes up over his forearm.

George makes a little noise and gropes at Harry's lap until his fingers touch bulge and zipper.

Harry shifts closer, letting George rub him through his trousers and then undoing the button closure to let George put his hand inside.

George has an errant thought that Harry _never_ seems to wear underwear anymore on days that they're going to see each other, and then all he can think about is getting his mouth on Harry as far and deep and hard as he can because for once, for once, he doesn't have to sing on television in just a few hours.

"I wanna suck you," he gasps. It seems like the most important thing in the world right now. "Please let me, I really really want to. Please."

"Can he, Lou?"

Louis doesn't answer straight away and George knows he won't if Louis doesn't want him to, but he _really_ wants to. "Yes," Louis finally decides. "He doesn't have to sing tomorrow. I want him to take you all the way."

“Yes, yes, yes," George chants, and he thinks Harry might be doing the same, but it's hard to hear exactly around the wispy, happy curls of gold-silver fog twirling lightly over his brain.

Louis kisses George just underneath his chin. "D'you want to choke on it?" he whispers. "I want to see you choke on it."

"Mm-hmm," George agrees, and Louis backs up enough that George can roll over to nuzzle his way up Harry's thigh.

Harry's jeans are tight enough that it takes him a moment to get them shoved down his thighs, but that's fine because that means George gets to look at his cock, all gorgeous and half-hard and _jesus christ_ Harry's cock is amazing.

Harry laughs quietly. "Thank you, love."

He's really got to start paying more attention to what he's saying out loud. George smiles up at Harry and kisses the crease of his hip, mouthing his way across to the base of Harry's dick.

Harry's huge hand covers the back of George's head, just resting lightly as he plays with strands of George's hair. "You're so pretty like this, George. So eager for it."

George bobs his head a little in agreement. He _is_ eager for it. He likes sucking on things and Harry's cock is the best thing he's ever sucked on.

He kisses all around the base, because Harry is always so tidy and clean and warm and smells good -- smells like Harry and sex and soap, but mostly sex -- and he can feel it getting thicker and harder from the warmth and wet of his mouth. It makes George feel good, powerful, wanted.

Finally, he starts to make his way up the shaft, mouthing wet kisses against Harry's skin and letting his tongue flick out to taste the slight saltiness there before he slips his mouth over the head of Harry's cock and sucks lightly.

Harry groans and seems to melt down a little against the pillows so George can get more leverage. Harry's hand slides down the back of George's neck and rubs, petting him.

There's a hand at the base of George's spine that must be Louis'. He pushes up George's shirt slowly, and dots kisses along his spine as George traces his tongue along a vein just below Harry's cockhead. 

"Off," Louis whispers, and George whines about having to separate from Harry, but does so that Louis can pull his shirt over his head.

Louis kisses the flat of George's shoulder blade. Then his weight moves and dips and George slips a little deeper onto Harry's cock. 

"Off, Harry," Louis murmurs, and there's a rustle as they pull Harry's shirt off, too, and then there's so much _skin_.

George wants to touch but he doesn't want to stop sucking, so he carefully balances on one hand so that he can slide the other up Harry's stomach, over the ridges of his abdomen and then he tweaks a nipple.

Harry hardens up so quickly that George does actually choke a little, surprised by it, and has to pull back to cough for a second.

"He does love that," Louis laughs, low and intimate as he pinches one of Harry's ordinary nipples.

Harry's fingers flex on George's shoulder, so George slurps back down onto the head of Harry's prick, fluttering his tongue.

He takes down more when he feels pressure against the back of his head, probably Louis. He's right, too, he can take more than that. He can take all of it.

He doesn't want to get it right away, though, because he wants to make it last and if the sounds Harry is making above him as Louis does something to Harry's nipples -- probably bites, George is guessing -- make it clear that he's going to have to take it slow.

Harry tastes amazing all bitter and slick, and he feels good on George's tongue. He would want to make this last anyway, because he loves doing this so _much_.

He hasn't ever _really_ had the chance to show off for them, either. And he really wants to.

This is what he's best at. He can get fucked with the best of them, and he's pretty good at doing the fucking, but he's been giving blowjobs for a really long time and he's proud of how good he is at them.

George has the fleeting wonder crawl through the tendrils of cloud in his brain that perhaps he should ask them very nicely whether he can get just one video of them all in bed to last him for the long, dry months that they'll be on tour.

He doesn't think they'd say yes but he can _ask_. Later. Maybe later, if he can get up the nerve.

George purrs around Harry's cock, letting him feel all the vibrations, as Louis runs his hands down George's back to the waist of his jeans.

He's not wearing the tight ones he got from them, and he's grateful for it when Louis can take them off without George having to stop sucking. Louis just pushes them down his thighs and then grabs them at the ankles and pulls.

George can't help giggling a little at that, enough that he has to pull up and jerk once or twice with his hand, letting it slip-slide and get wet with all the saliva and precome already making Harry's cock shiny.

"Suck him, there's a good boy," whispers Louis, curling fingers in George's hair and urging him back down. The steady pressure is thrilling and George feels himself welling up with happy laughter again. He muffles it with Harry's cock.

"George," Harry groans above him. George likes his name on Harry's lips. He takes a deep breath before he swallows down more than he did before, taking enough of Harry into his mouth that he can feel the head nudge at the back of his throat.

"That's our boy, there's our good boy," Louis encourages. He starts rolling down the waistband of George's pants and easing them over his cock, hard and leaky and pushing them out at the front, and the little round of his bum.

George closes his eyes and makes a noise in the back of his throat, half because he likes Louis' hands on him and half because he knows it'll make Harry gasp, and he loves being the person to make that happen.

"Oh, god." Harry's fingers tangle into George's hair and scrub, not enough to pull but enough that the weight of his palms makes George sink until the tip of his nose just barely ghosts Harry's belly.

He has to breathe through his nose, shallow, determined not to choke. He wants to take it all the way first, and then have Louis push him down more until he's gagging on it, _just_ so much that he can't quite catch his breath.

Louis is kissing George's back again, down over all of his ribs and the knobbles of his spine.

Considering how little George had ever done it before, he finds it almost automatic to spread his legs wider when Louis reaches his tailbone, and he has to concentrate so that he doesn't bite down when the flat of Louis' tongue licks out over him.

He wants to groan and it makes him sink a little more, getting the very last of Harry into his mouth, filling it up and pushing at his throat until his eyes start to water. He breathes shallowly through his nose and concentrates on swallowing.

"Good boy," Harry grunts. His hips are twitching up in tiny increments, enough that George notices but not enough to choke him. Yet. "God, I still can't believe you can take all of me. You look amazing."

George whimpers as best he can and Harry's head falls back against the headboard with a _thunk_.

Louis is holding George open, just breathing against him. George thinks maybe he's waiting to see if George can handle both at once, and he can, he thinks. Even if he can't, he wants to. He wriggles his hips and swallows rapidly around Harry when Louis' tongue touches him again.

Louis is hard and pressed up against the back of George's calf, rubbing up against him in short, sharp thrusts just to get pressure on his cock and George feels _lovely_.

He feels best like this, between them. He loves everything he gets to do with Harry and Louis but the best parts are when he can feel both of them, on either end or either side, boxing him in.

He's so hard he aches, though, and he wants one of them to touch him, too, but he doesn't want to pull off Harry's cock to tell them. He isn't sure he'd be able to get words out, if he's honest.

Louis' hand rubs up between George's shoulder blades, and then touches the back of his neck. It's not quite shoving him down, but it's a _push_ , and George chokes quietly.

"That's such a good sound," Louis murmurs, and his other hand _finally_ rubs around the band of George's hip to palm over George's cock. It's enough to make him bubble up a pearl of precome that Louis sweeps up with the pad of his thumb.

George whines and chokes again, this one louder. Harry has a hand on the back of his head and he doesn't push just yet but he does weave his fingers into George's hair, like a promise.

George shifts his hips a little, trying to urge Louis' mouth back onto him, too, so he can be -- totally overwhelmed. He wants to have tears streaming down his face by the time Harry comes down his throat.

It works, and Louis' mouth is back on him. He's not fucking around this time, either, his tongue pointed and his lips sucking kisses as his hand keeps a steady, slow pace on George's cock. The rhythm of Louis' hand and the rhythm of his mouth are out of sync and it's a bit of a sensation overload.

George stutters around Harry's cock and chokes for real; he can feel his face going red as he pulls up hurriedly to keep from biting down. As soon as he's had a few good breaths he's back down, sliding over the wet and getting him down faster as he slips his tongue over the shaft, pressing at the thrumming vein to make Harry tighten his fingers in George's hair.

He can feel it in his throat that he's not going to be able to talk very much for the rest of the day and he _loves_ it. He's missed this feeling so much, this sandpapery rawness that he gets when he's sucked a nice cock.

Harry grunts _close_ from somewhere far above George's head and George searches out Harry's other hand, resting it on his own head and pushing down lightly to give him the message.

It doesn't take much pressure for George to choke again, Harry's massive hand pressing him down until inky black tendrils spill at the edges of George's vision. He can't breathe, and it's amazing, and Harry comes with a loud moan down his throat.

George splutters, needing to cough and unable to, and he knows his cheeks feel wet but he's so glad, breathing short, desperate sucks in through his nose.

He pulls off to let the last of Harry's come paint his lips, already slick with spit and probably tears. He turns wet eyes up to Harry, who shivers all over.

Harry's eyes are closed as he slumps back against the pillows. He looks totally boneless.

Louis kisses the base of George's spine, his hand slowing to a stop on George's prick. "Tired him out," he whispers, sliding his other hand down George's thigh. "Good boy."

George nods, still wheezing a little. The taste of come is thick in his mouth.

His throat _hurts_ , but it's a feeling he's missed, and it's so good to know that he'll be feeling this for ages. It's like a bruise except he doesn't need to press on it, all he has to do is swallow or talk or breathe funny.

"Come here, Georgie, there's a good little love," Louis croons, and he gathers George into his arms so he can kiss over George's neck. He bites down and sucks hard, drawing a fresh black-rosy bruise to the surface.

It feels so good that George can only groan, rusty and hoarse, tilting his head so that Louis can have free reign of his neck.

"That sounds so good," Harry mutters, his voice tiny like he's coming back to life.

"Feels good," croaks George. He doesn't clear his throat to try and get rid of the fuzziness. It won't work and he doesn't want to be rid of it anyway.

Louis pulls off the lovebite only to immediately start pulling up another, just an inch or so down George's neck from the first.

"Yes," George hisses. This is just what he wants, what he needs. He wants to wake up tomorrow and remember all of this without even having to think, before he opens his eyes in the morning.

Louis' hand is soft as he just closes it gently around George's cock, stroking so lightly that it barely even counts. "Do you want to fuck me, George? Or should I get you off just from this?"

George thinks he could, is the thing. He could get off just from Louis' mouth sucking bruises into his neck, rub off against his hip or let Louis jerk him off. But he does want to fuck Louis. He wants that so badly.

"Yeah," George pants. "I -- yeah, you. Please?"

"I want your fingers in me first," Louis tells him. "Get me ready for you."

George nods without making words out of his sounds and they roll over so George can look down at Louis, all of him stretched out beneath him.

He loves looking at Louis when he's naked. It always makes him a little -- in disbelief, that he's actually fucking someone as undeniably hot as Louis is. He's muscles and skin and golden-tan, strong thighs and a slim waist. He's compact curves all over. George is the luckiest person in the world.

He says so, his voice croaking and cracking, and Louis smiles demurely as he hands George a packet of lube.

"I don't know, I think I might have to challenge for the title." Louis spreads his legs, feet braced on the bedspread.

George just shakes his head vehemently, totally overwhelmed with his eyes huge as he stares down at Louis' cock trailing a little smear of shine over his belly. He spreads lube over two fingers and brings them between Louis' legs.

"I can start with two; I want to feel it," says Louis quietly, and he exhales on a groan as George presses two fingers against his hole.

George kisses the ticklish inside curve of Louis' knee as Louis' body takes the fingertips in easily. 

Harry must already have fucked Louis once today. At least once, George thinks vaguely as his fingers slide easily to the second knuckle.

That's something to think about, too, how they fit together, Harry broadness and charm while Louis is little and lithe. They always look so good together.

"I want to watch you again," George slurs tentatively. "Not -- now."

"Of course, babe." Louis shifts his hips down against George's fingers like he can't help it. "Whenever you want."

George whimpers once and rests his head against Louis' leg, too exhausted and needy to hold himself up as he scissors his fingers inside Louis and Louis rides down on them, gasping when George hits perfectly deep inside.

"Another," Louis instructs, his head falling back when George adds a third finger. "Yes," he hisses. "Fuck, yes, like that, George."

George bends down at mouths shallowly at Louis' cock, too, the come still painting his lip smearing onto Louis' skin.

"Such a good boy." Louis pets through his hair. "You're such a good boy, so good at getting me ready for you. I want you to fuck me now."

George nods, but suckles lightly at the wet, stretched head of Louis' prick once before easing his fingers away to smooth lube over his own cock, groaning a little just at his own touch.

It feels like he's been hard forever at this point. He's been thinking about being inside Louis since Louis mentioned it earlier, and now he's finally getting to do it.

George lets Louis' legs come up to bracket his waist, heels pushing at the crest of George's bum to urge him in quicker and deeper.

Louis rumbles happily and George wonders if he's as happy to have George back inside as George is to be there. Louis is tight and smooth as always and it feels gorgeous. Everything feels gorgeous right now.

Louis' mouth tucks up next to George's ear. "Harder, love. Hold onto the headboard and _fuck_ me."

George's hands move to grip the wood of the headboard and he squeezes, bracing his knees and then fucking forward in one hard, firm thrust. Louis makes an approving noise, so George does it again, and again, building up a rhythm hard enough that the bed wobbles a little.

George groans, broken and raspy, when Harry's hand snakes between George and Louis to grasp Louis' cock and stroke it in time with George's bed-shaking thrusts.

Louis' hands draw up George's back, and he doesn't have long fingernails or anything but the blunt edges of his are leaving scratches on George's skin. It's not bruises but it's still _good_ , and George has to tip his head back for a moment to relish the feeling.

"Keep on, George," Louis grits out through his teeth. "You can't come until I say."

Right, he won't, he can do that. George drops his head forward again and bites the inside of his cheek enough to quell the heat in his stomach, if only a little.

Harry sits up and rests his chin on George's shoulder, stretching up just a bit to lick a spot of come off George's cheek.

He does _like_ that, Harry, and it shouldn't catch George by surprise every time, but it does. He's never met anyone who likes messing around with it after they've come, licking it or touching it, and Harry can't get enough.

Harry bites George's shoulder after, lets his teeth scrape over the skin so it feels razed and pink and hot.

"Fuck," Louis bites out beneath him. He's a sight, fierce and pink with Harry's hand wrapped around him.

George ducks his head and tries to find new purchase with his knees on the mattress so he can get Louis to come, to make it the _best_.

He must get the angle just right or something, because he only has to move his hips twice in the new rhythm for Louis to moan an _ah ah ah_ and spill sticky over Harry's hand and his own stomach.

George slows, but keeps fucking deep into Louis because he hasn't said to stop. Or told George that he can come yet.

"When Harry says you can," Louis allows, and it's like he's speaking in gasps because George is still going, fucking into him. "You can come when he says you -- _shit_ \-- when he says."

"Clean Louis up," Harry instructs. "With your tongue. And then you can come."

George pants, slipping out of Louis and nearly falling over with his enthusiasm as he slides down the bed, setting his lips and tongue to Louis' stomach and beginning to lick up his mess.

While he's bent double, Harry's hands wrap around George's waist and practically lift him into the perfect position for Harry to lick him out.

It makes George moan and sink his teeth into the flat of Louis' tummy, right beside his navel. He kisses him apologetically and licks in between breathing heavily with broad sweeps of his tongue.

Louis is clean sooner that George would have thought, and then it's all he can do just to rest his head on Louis' tummy and groan desperately as Harry's tongue works him. Eyes closed, George can feel Louis' fingers gently piecing through his hair and can hear murmuring, knows it's for him, but he can't tell _words_ anymore because none of them are commands and the white glow in his head is rejecting them all.

One floats through, just one word, Louis' voice and Harry's mouth and one word. "Come," Louis whispers to him, low and meant just for George, and he knows George will listen to him. "Come for us, George, all for us."

George bites his lip as he releases, four needy spurts of come all over their sheets and Louis' thighs; silent and teary-eyed and scrabbling hands.

"Good boy." Louis' voice again. "Such a good boy, all the time. You've done so well, George."

George can't even lift his head, much less respond. He's covered in sweat and his mouth and throat and belly are full of come and all of his muscles feel wibbly wobbly.

"Come on, babe, on your back," Harry coaxes, letting George's hips return to the bed and helping him roll onto his back. "Still with us? It's okay if you can't talk, just. Blink, or something."

George blinks and feels tears roll down his cheeks and into his hair.

Louis kisses his cheek then, or he thinks it's Louis. Everything's all blurry but he thinks he'd recognize Harry's hair from here. "Hey, hey, love," he whispers, and definitely Louis. "Alright?"

George nods and limply reaches his hand out for kisses or cuddles.

Louis laughs, kissing down George's wrist and giving him another tiny lovebite in the crook of his elbow. "Thought you'd passed out again for a moment," he says. He kisses George's shoulder.

George shakes his head and rolls over just enough to press his face into Louis' shoulder. He's still too -- he can't talk, yet, not if they don't specifically ask him to. And his throat is aching and he'd like some water.

"Is there anything you need, darling?" Louis asks him, tucking some of George's hair back and wiping tears from under his eyes. He's a mess but he feels like he's Louis' mess, and Harry's mess, so everything's alright.

George nods and pushes his face further into the side of Louis' arm.

"You've got to tell me," Louis urges. "Food? Blanket? Water?" He pauses after each word until George finally nods at the last one.

"Alright, love." He brushes his fingers through George's hair and pushes it away from his sweaty face. "Harry, can you get him some water?"

"Course." Harry kisses both of their heads before he rolls off the bed. He wobbles a bit before he can walk steadily. George is rather proud. He thinks Harry murmurs, “Love you, Georgie,” before he leaves the room.

He makes a pleased little noise and Louis smiles before kissing George's forehead.

"So, Georgie," Louis murmurs. "As long as we're the only people who get to make you look like this, cuddling and kissing is alright, yeah?"

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